Pick Your Poison
by stress
Summary: COMPLETE: It's 1907. Can ya believe that? Over seven years I've been gone and, if I had my way, I'd never have come back. But a man's got a thing or two that he's gotta do before he dies and, well, this is mine. - Skittery's story, poststrike.
1. 83 Bridge Street, Brooklyn

Disclaimer: _This story features characters from Disney's 1992 musical, _Newsies. _I do no stake any claim to them and they are used for fictional purposes only. Any other character is either the property of this author or the creator of said character._

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**Pick Your Poison**

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It was a small, dingy building at the end of a short, dingy street. Hidden between some tailor's shop and a joint with overpriced meat in the window, the room that the dirt-stained wooden door led to couldn't have been half as big as the old lodging house back in Manhattan. At first, I didn't think it was possible that this could be where I was supposed to be. It didn't look like the sort of place that Spot Conlon would work out of at all.

There was one big, fat, greasy rat sittin' on the porch, nosin' at a pile of only God knows what that was tossed off to the side. When I got near enough to the damned thing the vermin's itty bitty nose began to twitch like hell as it caught wind of me. I always heard that those vicious little shits had one hell of a sense of smell and, whether or not ol' Mush was full of it when he told me that, this rat didn't come no closer. In fact, it hopped off the porch, stubby legs carryin' it away as fast as they could.

It looked afraid. I don't blame it. I'd be afraid of me, too.

Damn smart rat. I wish I coulda followed the thing, too. Hell, anything woulda been better than steppin' through that dark, dirty door and meetin' up with the bummer who owned it. But I knew I had to. Didn't want to, but had to.

Damn it.

A large number 83 was etched into the dirty wooden door. It looked like someone with a knife and way too much time on their hands had carved it into the warped wood rather than just givin' up and buyin' some paint.

I glanced at the napkin scrap I was still clutchin' in my hand. Nervous sweat had caused the once-white napkin to curl but I could see the address that had been scrawled there: 83 Bridge St., Brooklyn, New York. I was at Spot Conlon's… accounting firm.

Yeah, accounting firm. I'm surprised that Dave could keep a straight face when he told me about it. David Jacobs may have been the most innocent of all of us back when we was kids but I doubt that now, as a grown man, he could believe that Spot Conlon could do anything as legitimate as punchin' numbers. Punchin' people, maybe, but not numbers.

But, then again, who was I to insist otherwise? I ain't been back here since, well, the beginning of the new century. Seven years since I've been gone. Hell, I was lucky enough that I ran into anyone from my past life. And, even if Dave didn't know where I needed to go, at least he knew where I could find Spot.

And Spot, I was pretty damn sure, would know where I needed to be to… yeah. Anyway—

Back in the old days, Spot used to have… what the hell did he call 'em? Birds. He had birdies. Now he has spies. Either way, they did the same thing. And Spot Conlon knew everything he needed to—wanted to—know. I sure got lucky runnin' into Dave. It was one step closer to what I had come here to do.

I shook my head. I could tell just from the outside of that dingy buildin' that I was right about what had come of Spot. This wasn't no accounting firm, I could say that.

But, hey, the address was what Dave had offered and I wasn't about to leave without checkin' it out first. So, crumpling up that napkin, I stuffed it into the back pocket of my trousers. Not the one with the gaping hole, though. The other one. Just in case.

With a hand that had a bit of the shakes, I tried to straighten up my messy, overgrown hair before givin' up, givin' in and turnin' those frantic fingers into a fist. There was no way I was going to come off looking any better than I did already. I looked like shit and I knew it and I didn't care.

The door was harder than it looked but smooth… for the most part. I knocked against it, takin' care to bang underneath the carved 83. I didn't need no splinters in my hand and whoever had done the knife job hadn't made it as clean as they could have.

Some big goon opened the door and I only had enough time to pull my fist back before it smacked into his gut. He had to have at least a head on me and weighed probably twice as much as I did. Plus, he had no hair. Scary lookin' bastard.

He glowered down at me, his head shining even with there bein' no light coming from inside of the room. "You got business here?"

He was made to intimidate any stragglers who happened to find Spot's joint but, shit, I wasn't scared. I have dealt with my fair share—and then some—of goons in my life and he wasn't as bad as he could have been. Didn't mean that I didn't choose my words carefully, though. I did. It may not be that great of a face but it's the only one I got.

"Yeah. Business. I gotta see Spot. I'm a… a old friend," I told him. Well, it wasn't a lie. "Skittery. Skittery Daniels. You go tell Spot I gotta talk to him, alright?"

_Skittery._ Man, did that name taste bad on my tongue. Sour, almost, like the time I drank curdled milk down at Tibby's on a nickel bet by Racetrack. A whole lifetime of memories and bad decisions came with the name of Skittery but I knew I couldn't damn well tell Spot Conlon that Benny Daniels was there. He didn't know no Benny. He knew a Skittery. So I was Skittery. Sour milk and memories and all.

I never wanted to be a Skittery, ya know. When I gave up that name, I never planned on takin' it back. And now, at twenty-five years old, I was a goddamn Skittery again.

Yeah… why the hell was I doin' this again?

I coughed just then, a violent spasm that made my chest burn and even made ol' Baldy take a careful step away from me.

Oh, yeah. That's right…

The big, bald goon—from his distance—was lookin' me over. He was sizin' me up, makin' sure that I wasn't there to do something to his boss, I figure. Like I could take on Spot Conlon – even if I wanted to. He may never have been the biggest newsie around but he sure was the most feared. What he did to that one copper back in '98… that was classic. I hadn't forgotten.

"You'll have no trouble out of me," I added, and I meant it. "I just need to see Spot."

I guess he finally believed me—that, or he wanted to leave me alone—because he nodded. "Wait here." He was gruff and rough and his shiny head damn near hit the ceiling of this small, dark room. I wasn't about to mess with this guy, though. Like I said, it's the only face I got. A fist that meaty… well, it could do plenty of damage.

God, all I wanted right then was a cigarette. Just a little something to calm my nerves and remind me again why I had left my home in Jersey to come back to the City. But I couldn't. I left all my smokes back at the boarding house, sittin' neglected in my other pair of trousers. I had wanted to make a better impression on Spot so I wore the dark ones, the ones with the least amount of holes. But, damn, I was cravin' a smoke. Rushin' out, I had forgotten them. If I live to see it, I'll never make that mistake again.

I ain't too sure how long I was standin' there, waitin' for Baldy to come back, but it didn't seem like _too_ long. Within a couple of minutes, and wearin' a grim face that made him look three times as ugly, the goon came back, his big, bulky shape fillin' up the gap between the open door. Sausage-like fingers were pointed at my chest as he growled, "The boss says he'll see you."

I let out the breath I didn't even know I'd been holdin'. Well, that was a lot easier than I'd thought—and one obstacle out of the way, to boot. I hadn't thought about what I would have done if Spot refused to see me but, ya know, I guess I didn't have to worry about that, now.

Well, I did have to worry, I guess. I had to worry about gettin' him to tell me what I needed to know.

Not too bad, really. Things were beginnin' to look up.

Now, I'll say this. This building must have been some kind of illusion or some shit, I don't know, because it seemed a lot bigger on the inside than it did on the outside. I followed Baldy through two smaller, even darker, rooms before findin' myself before another door. This one wasn't warped and it didn't have anything carved in the top, either.

It was a fancy door, made of fancy wood. Spot Conlon was movin' up in the world. Magic building and all.

I didn't even bother knockin' this time. I think that surprised Baldy. If anything, he blinked only once at the way I seemed so darin'—I mean, this _was _Spot Conlon, after all—but that's all I saw before openin' the door and steppin' into the room.

The first thing I noticed was how expensive this damn room was, and how shitty the outside looked compared to it. There was a rich, shag carpet that my cracked boots sunk right into, and a couple of chairs made out up bona fide mahogany and padded with a pillow so that a visitor's ass doesn't get sore. Real ritzy, that. Spot Conlon hadn't just moved up in the world. He was thumbin' his nose down at the suckers – like me – who still rolled around in the muck.

It was then, when the novelty of starin' at Spot's office began to wear off, I wondered how the hell I could see anything at all to begin with.

Looking around, I saw that it was much brighter in there than anywhere else in the building. There were no windows but that's not where the light was coming from anyway – the light was coming from candles. Four of them. Perched carefully in the four corners of the room. It was an ingenious design, I noticed, with the most of the light bein' focused on a wide desk.

And there, sittin' behind that desk, with fancy leather shoes kicked up on the desk, lookin' like he didn't have a care in the world, was Spot Conlon. Spot fuckin' Conlon. He had grown. Damn.

If I would have run into him on the street, I ain't too sure I would have recognized him. Where my dark brown hair was gettin' longish, and there was that constant layer of dirt on my face that even the heartiest of scrubbings couldn't remove, Spot looked impressive. And tall, I couldn't get over it. Not as tall as me, and definitely not as tall as Baldy, but he had grown a couple of inches. Still short and all but no shrimp.

He had closely cropped fair hair, too, and eyes that any dame could—and had—fallen for, all stuffed into a suit that must have cost more than I made in the past three years, doin' honest work. His skin was clean and tanned—healthy—and he was smilin'. It was an all-knowing smile, an amused smile. He was goin' to enjoy this meeting. "Skittery. Long time, no see." He laughed shortly as if he had made a joke. I didn't think it was funny. "I never expected to see your ugly mug around here again."

So… he wanted to start out with niceties. I could do that. "Trust me, Spot. I never planned on bringin' my mug back to New York." With a careless wave of my hand, I gestured around the room. "You've done well, eh, Spot? And all this with… accountin', I hear?"

His answer was a mix of rich laughter and a condescending smirk. Ass. "Yes. Accounting." He patted the edge of his desk fondly. "I've done well. But you," he added, one perfectly shaped eyebrow risin' as he turned his piercing stare on me—I tried not to flinch—"you look like shit, Skittery. What the hell happened to you?"

"Life, Spot." I shrugged. I didn't want to tell him. All I wanted was an address. He didn't need to know anything more than whose address I needed. "But you know I ain't here to spitball about old times." Spot nodded, a grin stretchin' his face. He wasn't stupid. "Look. I need—"

There was a knocking sound just then, cuttin' me off. "Hey, Spot, you called for me?"

I forgot what I had been sayin' as that voice—that damn voice—ran through my head. Oh, hell no. You have got to be shittin' me. I've been back in this god-forsaken area for three days and I run into her. Damn it. This was not what I was expecting when I came back to New York.

Of course, there was a slim chance that it wasn't her. That voice could belong to any of the thousands of cheap girls in the city. Just because there was an inherent purr to that one, it didn't mean it was her.

Yeah, and I'm the Queen of Sheba.

If it was even possible, Spot's shark-like grin grew even wider as he looked over his shoulder. There was a door back there—I don't know how I didn't see it before, especially with all the damn candles—and he nodded at it. "Come in, honey. I got a friend of mine I'd like you to meet." He looked back at me. I could see his damn teeth glintin' against the candlelight. "Or, should I say, re-meet."

This was it. My eyes, without any direction at all, slid to the side as I watched the door open. A slender hand, wearin' a lacey white glove, came out first, followed by an arm and then a head, lowered so that I couldn't see her face, as she approached Spot's grand mahogany chair. It was a blonde head, attached to one hell of a body, but it didn't mean it was her. Right?

Wrong.

She was wearin' heels, I noticed. When you're in such a state of mind you start to notice crazy shit like that. Spot, pushin' five foot six, has a dame wearin' heels. Never would have thought it'd make any sense but, then again, this is Spot Conlon. He was vicious enough, smart enough, _rich _enough not to have to make sense, I guess.

He was lookin' at me, those piercing blue or grey—or whatever the fuck color they are—eyes goin' right through me. He jerked up his chin while liftin' his right hand to beckon this girl closer. As if trained, she came and stood off to his right, her hand settlin' on Spot's grey suit jacket. She looked up as Spot's fingers pointed at me. "Skittery. I think you remember Sunny."

Sunny. Sunny, with her honey blonde hair always done up in loose curls and a set of brown eyes that made ya think of chocolate and crème and all sort of sweet things that a street rat could never afford but secretly wanted. Sunny Willows, my first girl. Shit, the years have been good to her.

She's filled out some, too. Grew a couple of inches, both tall-wise and in the middle. And her rack. Never had any tits before but now… what I wouldn't have given when I was seventeen for Sunny Willows to have a rack like she did now.

I was starin' at her but I didn't care. She looked good, delicious almost. I felt dirty and old, leerin' at her. I only had three years on her but, hell, I looked my age. Sunny… damn. This can't be happenin'. She's the reason I'm in this mess. She's the reason I came back. I wasn't supposed to ever see her again. Why now?

At least I know why the hell Spot was smilin' like that…

Those eyes of her—kind yet knowin', enticin' but somehow still deceivingly pure—was watchin' me but she didn't say a word. Not one single word. Her hand was still restin' lightly on Spot's hoity toity coat and, look at him, he's smirking.

He knew what he was doin'. Fuckin' bum. He was doin' it on purpose, too. I can tell. I've seen him do it to plenty other guys when we was kids. Always got that same cocky look in his eyes when he did it, that same curl of his thin upper lip. Bastard.

That's alright. Two can play this game, I guess. Besides, I didn't come here to find Sunny. It's been almost eight years—seven years and five months, but who's countin'?—since… since the last time I saw her. I hadn't never wanted to see her again and, as far as I'm concerned, that still stands. So what if she's with Spot Conlon now? She's had everyone else and their brother, why not Spot?

And, so what if I'd bed her in an instant, should she even give me the chance? It didn't mean I'd forgive her for what she'd done to me. It didn't mean that I still loved her. Not at all.

I nodded. "Yeah, Spot. I remember." I tried to sound aloof, like I wasn't bothered by her reappearance in my pitiful existence. Sure, I would have felt a bit better about it if she had bloated up like a whale, or lost a couple of teeth. Perhaps her hair could have fallen out instead of settlin' on her hair in those prim, innocent—innocent, my ass—curls. Maybe she could have popped out a couple of kids or married a drunk or something… but no.

No.

There she was, little Mary Willows, lookin' just as good as she always had. But this time she wasn't with… wasn't with me. She was with Spot Conlon. Spot Conlon, whose one hand was patting her dainty, pale one possessively. Spot fuckin' Conlon, whose second hand had reached behind Sunny and was pattin' her on the ass.

Shit.

This was gonna be harder than I thought.

* * *

Author's Note: _Well, I couldn't help it. After opening up each of my word documents in a row and trying to come up with something to write, I realized that I still haven't gotten over my writer's block. However, inspiration comes in the strangest forms and, when I was showering this morning, this idea popped in my head. It fleshed itself out quite nicely and I realized that, if I didn't get this out, it would haunt me. So, here it is, a new story. It's going to be a multi-chapter fic but (hopefully) not too long. _

_This is more of an exercise than anything. It's in the first person point of view and, as such, is limited. Plus, it features a character I rarely use. And it will help me (in later chapters) work with dialogue. So, yeah. I'd really appreciate any feedback on this. _


	2. Making a deal with the Devil

Disclaimer: _This story features characters from Disney's 1992 musical, _Newsies. _I do no stake any claim to them and they are used for fictional purposes only. Any other character is either the property of this author or the creator of said character._

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**Pick Your Poison**

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I swallowed while tryin' to keep my face expressionless. I'm pretty sure that it looked like I was constipated or something. I mean, I could actually feel my face screwin' up as I fought any hint of remorse or anger or, hell, even lust from crossin' it.

When I got the idea that I wasn't as good of an actor as I first thought, I just coughed again before clearin' all the shit from my throat. It was not something that I meant to do, really, but it served a purpose. With a callous wink in my direction, Spot took back both his hands and crossed his arms over his chest.

His lips thinned, losin' any humor that had been left, as he jerked his cocky head in my direction. Playtime was over, I guess. Time to finally get down to business.

"Okay, Skittery. You told Paulie out front that you needed to talk to me, right? So talk. I'm listenin'."

To be honest, for a second there, I'd completely forgotten what I was doin' there. As much as I hate to admit it, my attention was still on Sunny. She looked too damn good, it was hard to look away from her. My eyes were glued to her tits. Hell, they were her best assets – I couldn't help myself.

And that wasn't it. I sniffed the air and, I swear, I could smell her. Instead of that two-bit perfume she used to bathe in, she had on some real expensive shit, but I could still smell her. She always reminded me of honey and daisies and warm summer nights.

I know I should hate that smell… but I don't. So I hate me, instead.

Funny ol' world, in'it?

"Skittery?"

I heard Spot's voice that time and everything came rushin' back. I shook my head and turned to look at him. I could tell from the way his eyes had hardened that he knew I was oglin' his dame. But what had he expected? He purposely paraded her out in front of me. He had to have known that showing her off to me was like shovin' a thick, juicy steak under the nose of a guy who hadn't ate in three weeks. I only done what anyone else would have done.

I shrugged. He had no right to look so pissed off, I figure. He had the girl, the money, the power. I had shit. He really couldn't blame me for stealin' a cheap glance right?

"Uh, yeah. Sorry, Spot. I… I…" Ah, shit. How am I supposed to tell Spot what I was doin' with Sunny in the room? She would think she had something to do with it. I mean, she does and all, but I didn't want her to know that. I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck. It was another case of I had to, but didn't want to… "I came for some help." There. I said it.

So long, pride. It was nice knowin' ya.

"Help, huh? What kind of help?"

Oh, yeah. I kinda have to tell him that part, too. "I need an address, Spot. One of the ol' fellas. I figured you had it."

Spot lifted his hand and scratched at his chin. It was smooth and I could tell he must have just shaved. Me, on the other hand, I got a week's worth of stubble coverin' my chin. Gives me character, I think. That, and it cuts the amount of face I gotta wash in half. "An address, you say? Whose?"

This was it. I took a deep breath. "Jack Kelly's."

Ugh. If I thought the name of Skittery left a foul taste in my mouth, that one was ten times worst. Disgusting.

I think Spot was tryin' hard not to look interested at that. He failed miserably. "You wanna see Jack? Jack Kelly? After everything that happened? Why the hell would you do that?"

Somehow, I knew Spot was gonna ask me that. I knew he wouldn't even think of helpin' me out until I had told him everything. And, still, I was naïve and tried to play it off. Well, I couldn't play it off for any longer. "I… I wanted to say hey to him, you know." I shrugged. I still had _some _pride left. "And, uh, maybe apologize." But not much. The words rushed out but I could tell Spot heard them. Goddamn bastard was smirkin' again.

"Oh." Real articulate, that Spot. I'm honest for once and what does he say? 'Oh'. Lovely.

"Yeah, well, do you have his address? I'm only in Manhattan for a couple of days and it took me this long to find anyone who might even know where Cowboy was now. If anyone, I thought you did." There. Maybe if I appealed to _his_ pride, he'd help.

Hot damn, I think it actually worked. "Well… I haven't seen ol' Jacky Boy in, oh, years. What would you say, baby? Years, right?" Spot had turned in his seat, searchin' out Sunny. In my admission, I had completely forgotten about her and from the look of surprise on her face, she thought that Spot had forgotten about her, too. Not to mention, from the way she flinched and purposely looked away from me, I think she wanted me to have forgotten about her.

"Yeah, Spot. Years."

That actually made me feel a bit better about the whole situation. Not much but… yeah.

I let myself stew on that for just a second before callin' Spot's attention back to me. "So you haven't seen Cowboy in years. That don't mean that you don't know where I can find him, right?"

"Maybe." The way that Spot was able to make that one word sound like five bothered me. That, and the way he was smirkin' at me. I know he knew. He knew I knew he knew. Why, then, was he playin' around with me?

I didn't have time for this bullshit. "Come on, Spot. One address from you and I'll be on my way."

There was a minute where I thought I had gone too far. Spot went all quiet and straightened up in his seat. His smirk had faded back into that tight-lipped, emotionless expression. Maybe he was thinkin', maybe he was plottin' where he was gonna dump my body. I didn't know but, I'll tell ya this. I didn't look away.

I wasn't afraid of death no more. If Spot wanted to have Baldy rip me in half, then let him do it. Just as long as I got that damn apology out of the way. A man's gotta die for something, right?

But Spot surprised me. He nodded, lifted his hand and snapped his fingers.

Sunny damn near jumped at the sound. "Yes, Spot?"

"Be a good girl and go get me my book. The black one, not the green one. I don't want you goin' near that green one, alright, honey?"

With an obedient nod, Sunny exited out through the door she had come. She did not close the door behind her and, I noticed, Spot left it open.

I was waitin' for him to start up on me, waitin' for him to rub Sunny in my face. I didn't know what I would say when he did but that was alright. He never said anything. He kept silent – I didn't like that one bit. Real creepy. I'd rather him talk than not talk. When he's quiet, you never know what he's thinkin' about. God forbid he ever said he was thinkin' about _me_.

He didn't get the chance to think for too long. Sunny came back, a large black, leather-bound book bein' held up against her considerable chest.

Oh, was I jealous of that damn book right then…

"Here, Spot."

"Thanks, doll." He took the book and, settin' it on his desk, flipped it open. It seemed pretty neat and organized and had big letters on the corner. It was some sort of address book, I guessed, where Spot could keep all the information for the people he knew.

Thumbing through it absently, Spot only stopped when he found the page with a K in the corner. Jack Kelly. Cowboy. One perfectly clean finger ran down the page before stoppin' about halfway down. "Here he is. Jacky Boy. I do got something on him, after all. You want to hear it?"

I don't know if he was askin' me or Sunny when he said that. He had good cause to ask that of both of us but I didn't want to hear what Sunny had to say. So I answered him first. "I just need an address, Spot. That's it."

"Suit yourself," he retorted. "Alright. Jack Kelly. I got him down at some joint on the lower east side. Down on Norfolk Street, just off of Stanton. 177 Norfolk, to be exact."

" Norfolk Street," I repeated. "You mean, he never left New York?" I had been hopin' that Jack Kelly still lived in the City, that he never fled and went out West. It was definitely something to hear that he was so damn close, even after all of these years.

Norfolk Street. Shit, that's only about five miles from here. Sure, I'd gotta cross the Brooklyn Bridge and all but I would have had to do that anyway. Madame Rose's boarding house was on Bleekman St, right next to the Manhattan side of the Bridge.

Things were really startin' to look up for me.

"Yeah… as far as I know, at least. I've had this address for awhile, ever since—" He paused then. I swear, I could almost see his brain at work. He was thinkin' again.

And I knew I was in for it.

"Hang on a second. I just got a good idea," he said, removin' his fancy shmancy shoes from his desk and drawin' himself up so that he was standin' next to Sunny. That stupid grin was back and I really knew that I was in for it now. When Spot Conlon has a good idea, it only ever is good for Spot Conlon. "Skittery, you've been gone for a bit and maybe you've forgotten your way around here. Why don't I send someone with ya, to keep you company and help you search out Cowboy?"

I think I knew where he was goin' with it before he even told me. I tried to look casual but, inside, my stomach was droppin'. I felt like I was gonna hurl. "Uh—no, thanks, Spot. I'm pretty sure I can still figure out where everythin' is. You've already done enough for me. 177 Norfolk, right? I'll find it."

He wasn't having any of that. Surprise. "No, no, no, Skitts. I in_sist_." And, look at him. He widened his eyes and his grin, tryin' to look all innocent as if this _great _idea had just come to him. I'll say this: Spot Conlon is as lousy an actor as I am.

I should have known he was goin' to pull something like this. You can't get something for nothing in this world and knowledge was worth a lot. Not to mention, he did seem really annoyed when I was lookin' Sunny over.

He couldn't really blame me for that, could he?

"I've just had an even better idea. Why don't you take Sunny as your guide?" he said, reachin' for Sunny's hand and offerin' it to me. "I'm sure you two have some catchin' up you need to do, eh?"

Hell. I guess he _could _blame me, after all.

God, I hate him.

Almost shyly – though I had been goin' for defiantly, shy was the only thing I could manage – I lifted my head to meet those lovely eyes that Sunny had. There was only a few seconds where we gazed at each other before she lowered her head.

"Spot. I don't… I don't know if that's really a good idea." Her voice was a lot quieter than I was used to. I guess when I had thought that Spot had trained her, I'd been right. Sunny never whispered. It was strange.

I don't know what Conlon's game was but he just shook his head, never once losin' the aura of amusement that surrounded him. "Don't be silly, honey. Skittery's an old friend. An old friend of yours and mine and he came to us, lookin' for help. You can't deny him that, can you?"

Despite the kind words he was usin' – which was enough to set the hairs on the back of my neck on end, it was that fuckin' weird – Spot's voice had a steel edge to it. It was so sharp that I knew that, if Sunny refused, she would only be cut for her refusal.

I didn't want to do it. But I had to. I sighed. "I'd be… honored," Oh, god. I sound like a queer, "if you'd come with me, Sunny." The words were mumbled as they tumbled out but I had to do it. I just hoped I didn't regret it later.

Sunny's mouth, which had been about to respond to Spot, just hung open. I was waitin' for a couple of flies to head on in there, she looked so surprised. I guess she wasn't expecting me to want her to come with me. And, to tell the truth, I knew I shouldn't want her to come with me. But, then again, she was lookin' real good…

--

The reality of what I had done only hit me when big ol' bald Paulie led me and Sunny out of Spot's… accounting firm. She was walkin' behind me, about three steps behind, starin' down at the floor. Silent as the grave and just as cold.

I was really bein' to regret jumpin' in and lettin' her tagalong. She was Spot's dame and, if he wanted to fuck around with her, he could. It wasn't any business of mine. I had my own troubles and I was well on my way to takin' care of them.

It was really weird, though. As soon as Baldy let us out of 83 Bridge Street, and the door had been slammed behind us, Sunny's entire… _everything_ seemed to change. Her shoulders slumped but her head rose. The gap between us was whittled down to only one step and, unless I was imaginin' it, her gloved hand was lightly caressin' the back of my arm.

Without even lookin' behind me I jerked my arm forward and increased my pace, makin' sure there was nearly three feet between me and her. This is Spot's dame, I kept tellin' myself, and God only knows what would happen if I made the slightest move on her. Besides, I had my chance and I—she—we blew it.

I never intended to forgive her. And, as far I was concerned, this whole being thrown together – I really fuckin' hate Spot Conlon – ain't gonna change that.

177 Norfolk Street. It kinda was a bit of a ways from here, not countin' the trek over that damn Bridge, but it really wouldn't take_ too_ long. And, ya know, the sooner I was away from Sunny Willows, the better.

Now, it was about five or six or so blocks away from Bridge Street – I could almost see the old Brooklyn Lodging House down on Poplar Street from where we were – when I started to calm down a bit. Well, not really, but my heart wasn't as racin' as much as it had been when I felt the soft touch of Sunny's glove. And, with a quick glance out of the corner of my eye, I could see that she was still keepin' her distance.

Good.

You know, I didn't even realize that I was doin' it but I was. Walkin' about four steps ahead of Sunny, I was absently pattin' my pockets, lookin' for my pack of smokes. I had forgotten that I left them back at Madame Rose's, sittin' in the pocket of my other pants. But, when my search came up empty-handed, I remembered and I grunted in frustration.

Damn it. I really needed a smoke. There's nothing like a good dose of tobacco to make even the strangest situations doable. And this situation – hell, any situation that included Sunny Willows – was fuckin' strange.

There was a crackin' sound just then, a real quick snap, loud enough that it jerked me out of my nicotine withdrawal. My eyes widened and I looked over my shoulder. Unless I was imaginin' it, I could smell smoke.

I wasn't imaginin' it. Sunny had a hand rolled cigarette perched invitingly between her lips. Her left hand was busy wavin' out the flame from the match she had just struck. Prim eyebrows raised and cheeks went gaunt as she puffed on the cigarette. Once the tip of the smoke was burning brightly, she removed the cigarette with her right hand and held it out to me. "Here, Skitts."

It was a battle of wills just then. Did I want to continue pretendin' that Sunny wasn't there? Or did I want to sell what little pride I had left for a cigarette?

I took the smoke. "Thanks." There. At least I didn't sound all that grateful. But, once I had taken the first drag off of the cigarette, and my muddled head cleared up somewhat, I figured that something was up. I glanced back over at Sunny and noticed: she didn't have a cigarette of her own. There was no pack, no matches left out. It was as if she did all that just for me – and that couldn't be right. I nodded at her. "What? Cheap shit not good enough for you?"

She shook her head, those bouncy bouncy curls wavin' slightly, not even touched by the summer night's humidity. "I'm good, Skitts. 'Sides, that was for you."

"For… for me?" I sounded surprised and quickly tried to turn that confusion into a scoff. I wasn't about to let this dame make a monkey out of me. "What the hell for?"

"Same old Skittery Daniels. So predictable."

I sniffed. Right then, I had the sudden urge to take that stupid cigarette, flip it casually to the dirt and stamp my old, worn boot down on it. Predictable… that wouldn't be so damn predictable, would it?

But I didn't. It was a smoke. And, hell, I sure needed it right then.

So I did the next best thing. Drudgin' up all the memories and all the pain and all the shit I went through followin' that one damn night in January, I coldly eyed her. I lifted my head up and, with a voice that I didn't think I would ever use on a lady, I said three little words.

"Fuck you, Sunny."

* * *

Author's Note: _Thanks you guys! I really appreciated the feedback on the first chapter… and, not to mention, the replies to the minor CC's were great. I will send out a character interests type survey sometime soon, in between the third and fourth chapter (they will appear in the fifth chapter and onward, as far as my outline dictates right now). Anywho, here's the next chapter. It answers a couple of unsaid questions while raising more. Fun times._


	3. Ancient history and all that

Disclaimer: _This story features characters from Disney's 1992 musical, _Newsies. _I do no stake any claim to them and they are used for fictional purposes only. Any other character is either the property of this author or the creator of said character._

--

**Pick Your Poison**

--

I really should have just dropped it but… I don't know. I guess I couldn't. Something inside of me just snapped and, even though I started to puff away on that smoke, I couldn't keep it in. I let my trap keep on flappin', all the while tryin' my damndest not to notice how I could taste her on the ends of the cigarette.

"I mean, everyone and their brother already has, right?" I shrugged, speaking around the cigarette as I casually—I swapped bein' angry for bein' indifferent, I knew that'd piss her off—looked her over again. "So, tell me… are you Spot's personal whore now? Or didn't you have nothin' better to do tonight?"

I expected her to have the decency to look shocked at the blunt way I had just come out and said it. But she didn't. She just shook her head. "No." Simple as that.

But what the hell was she sayin' no to?

Stumbling a bit at her unexpected answer, I nodded at her. I could feel my eyebrow goin' up, too. "No? What do you mean no?" I took the cigarette out and let it settle between my dirty fingers before ashin' it absently. "Are you tryin' to tell me that you ain't fuckin' him?"

I think that one might have rattled her a bit. At the very least, I think her prim, little face scowled. "Spot takes care of me, Skitts. And, 'sides, what _is _a whore?" She all but spat that word out. I guess it's one she doesn't like to use. Kinda funny, if you think about it. "Someone who just spreads her legs and takes it, 'cause the dope who's layin' with her is only usin' her, right? Wouldn't you say that, Skittery?" Sunny only waited a second before continuing. I guess she really didn't think I'd answer. And she was right. "If that's true, and I say it is, then the only whore I've ever been is yours."

I should have let it go then, just turned around and continued on my way. I didn't mean half of what I said—alright, I did, but I never would've said it to a lady, not even Sunny—but, you know what? I couldn't let it go. My mouth opened and the words were out before I'd even realized it. "And you fuckin' loved it, too. Didn't you?"

It was a low blow, mainly because we both knew it wasn't true. Not really. Maybe it had been, for awhile. I was probably just a good time for her. I mean, why else would she have done what she did? She never loved me the way I… the way I loved her.

Shit. There I go, thinking about all that again and my smoke is all but gone.

Have I mentioned how much I _really _hate Spot Conlon?

I may not have moved just yet but Sunny didn't move, either. Her mouth was hangin' open again, as if she was shocked by what I had to say. Alright, maybe I shouldn't have been so rough with her but… hell, I ain't gonna be somethin' I aint – not even for Sunny Willows.

I'm a bastard. I know that. A dumb and glum kind of guy who ain't never had a good word for nobody.

She still didn't move, her eyes unblinking as she stood there, waitin'. But waitin' for what? An apology? Further insults. I didn't know and, right then, I started to feel like a prick. I know I shouldn't have treated her so bad, just 'cause I remember how everything ended.

It's been damn near eight years, after all. Ancient history and all that.

But why was I still holdin' onto it all?

Slumping my shoulders, and tossin' the ends of the spent cigarette to the ground, I decided I'd be better off tryin' to make things right with Sunny. She was gonna follow me all the way to Jack Kelly's, I knew, and it would only be even more weird if I left this between us.

I stamped on the still burnin' cigarette, waitin' until the tip had been put out before I cleared my throat. "So, uh, besides sleepin' with Spot, what else have ya been up to? Still doin' what you used to?"

She shook her head and started to take a step forward, no longer frozen. I guess she knew that, as ass backwards as it was, it was my way of startin' some sort of civil conversation. "Nope. When I… I came to…" She smiled apologetically at me, or was that triumph? "… _be _with Spot, I gave up vaudeville."

Vaudeville?

I snorted. Couldn't help that, either.

Vaudeville was what ol' Medda Larkson used to do down at Irving Hall. With the big, gaudy dresses and her damn feather and the songs that, no matter how bad, always got stuck in my head—

_High times, hard times  
Sometimes the living is sweet  
And sometimes there's nothing to eat  
But I always land on my feet… _

—that was vaudeville.

Two-bit singers, dancers, mind readers, instrumentalists, flash acts, strong men, comedians, hoofers… shit like that was vaudeville.

What I found Sunny Willows doin', at the ripe age of fourteen, was not no vaudeville…

--

_It was just comin' off winter, a real nice spring day. The birds were out and, along with them, the suckers. I don't know what it was but there was something about a beautiful day that brought out the idiots. I didn't mind. Hell, it made everything so much easier for me. My stomach was filled, I was pretty well rested and I even had enough money for a night out. _

_I had heard some of the boys talkin' about a place called Sunshine's, some gritty little joint at the top of the Tenderloin. Specs and Dutchy seemed to head on out there whenever the headline was good and, on that day, I tagged along. I was curious, I guess. _

_The building was small and, really, I didn't know what to expect. I had asked if it was anything like Medda's show. The two of them had just laughed at me. Dutchy had offered a "Much better", but that was it. I was in for a surprise. _

_Burlesque was not something I'd never heard of but I had never found myself in one of their joints. It was so dark and smoky inside that, at first, I didn't even know where I had followed those two bums into. All I kept thinkin' was that the place was called Sunshine's but it was more like Nighttime, it was that dark. _

_And that was when the show started. _

_Loud music introduced the opening act, accompanied by some bright lights. The room seemed to open up as the curtain opened, revealin' a feather that was so big it made Medda's look like it belonged to a fuckin' pigeon. _

_The great, white feather started to shimmy and shake as it was lowered down to the makeshift stage. I don't know I thought I would see when that feather dropped, but it sure wasn't what was there. _

_There was a girl, a young girl by the flatness of her chest and the narrowness of her waist, standin' there—wearin' not much more than a scrap of cloth and a bit of string, full of sparkles that caught that unnatural light every time she moved. Long, honey-colored hair was done up in pin curls and wide, starin' eyes were searching out the audience. Whether I was imaginin' it or not, those eyes found mine and then… with pouted, painted lips she grinned and blew me a kiss before startin' to dance. _

_I ain't never seen someone dance like that before. The music continued to play, a loud beat that was accented by the young girl's thrust. She twirled around the stage, makin' as if she was goin' to pull at her top or lift up her skirt before doin' a naughty-naughty type gesture with her long, slender fingers. It was a tease, plain and simple, and it was over before I had realized it. She blew another kiss out into the audience—I believed it was mine—before flouncin' off the stage. _

_I shouldn't have been so aroused by that sight. She was a kid, for God's sake. And I was seventeen, almost a full-grown man. I shouldn't be gettin' so hard for a girl like that. _

_But I was. _

_The announcer came onstage and called for the male audience to give one final cheer for Mary Willows, Sunshine's newest (and youngest—that announcement got another round of cheers from the crowd) star. He clapped himself before gesturing off to the side of the stage and hollering for the next act—some parody of a fancy opera thing I had never heard of—to take their place. _

_As the next act came tumblin' out, wearin' costumes that rivaled the opener's for length, I made myself a quiet promise. I would get to know this girl. I would get to know this risin' star of Sunshine's. _

_And when I did, I would call her Sunny… _

--

I snorted again, this time tryin' not to get all hot and bothered over what young Mary Willows looked like then, and what a filled-out Sunny Willows looked like now.

Once calm, I glanced over at her and, would you look at that? Sunny was wearin' some kind of righteous expression. Tryin' to remember her past fondly, I figure. Well, I couldn't have that. I remembered it just the way it was. I'd be damned if she tried to make it something that it ain't. "Vaudeville, my ass, Sunny. You was a burlesque star and you know it. A tease."

Her delicate chin stuck out and her forehead creased into wrinkles as she furrowed her brow. Ha. I got her now. She can't act all high and mighty after bein' called out on that, could she?

"Call it what you want, Skittery. Just remember who it was that found me there. I may have worked in that joint, but that was for honest pay. You, on the other hand… you paid money—real money—to get in." Her gloved hands were on her hips and for a minute, just a minute, I saw the spitfire I had known when I was a kid. My Sunny.

And I thought she had looked good before.

Sunny wasn't finished yet. "So, before you start judgin' me, Benjamin Daniels—" Shit. My full name, too. That was low. "—you better take a good, hard look at yourself." She paused for a second, slightly out of breath for all her ranting, before addin' softly, "I _can_ see you , Skitts. You look like hell."

A faint hint of a grin flickered across my face. "Good to see the real you again, Sun."

And, I swear, she smiled back. I don't think she meant to, and it was probably in spite of herself, but she did it. "Yeah. You, too."

--

The Bridge. The Goddamn Brooklyn Bridge.

It's one hell of a sight, I'll give it that. Big and long and all that water runnin' underneath it…

I never liked the Bridge. I was just a kid when they built it up, makin' a path between Manhattan and Brooklyn and, I swear, I didn't cross it for years. Never really needed to but there was always that worry that I'd trip and fall or something when crossin' it and drown. Drownin', I figure, has got to be one of the worst ways to go.

The first time I ever crossed it, I was drunk. So drunk, in fact, that Race – short, smartass Race – had to support my gangly body as he helped me over to Brooklyn. There was some kind of game that night, poker probably, and Race didn't want to go alone. I remember makin' a big point of not wantin' to go but a couple of drinks later and, yeah… you know how it goes. I was hangin' over the side, tryin' not to puke into the river below.

Maybe it's because of that, or maybe because I'd never really been one for heights, neither, but I always get a queasy feelin' in my stomach when I come face to face with the damn thing. I hadn't really noticed the sick feelin' before because I was so worried about meetin' up with Spot. And ya would think that I'd be worried about goin' after Cowboy.

I wasn't.

So, pushin' aside the I'm-gonna-hurl feelin', I set one foot on the wooden plank at the center of the Bridge. No one was around—unless the dark was hidin' them or something—except for me and Sunny.

I couldn't look sick in front of Sunny.

I wondered if she remembered how much I hated the goin' over that Bridge. A peek at her face revealed nothing to me but that was alright.

I didn't care.

Blood rushin' through my veins, I began to feel reckless. I began to feel darin'.

And that itty bitty part of my brain that was still thinkin' like it should have been was askin' why the hell I didn't leave Brooklyn before it got dark or, at least, find a boarding house that was on this side of the damn Bridge.

Actin' like I wasn't nervous at all about walkin' across the Bridge—and I guess I wasn't, that damn bravado forcin' me forward—I started to move. The c_lack_—c_lack_—c_lack_ of Sunny's heels behind me told me that she comin', too. She didn't say nothing, though, and that was fine by me.

We didn't stop walkin' until we hit what could be described as the halfway point of the Bridge. The drvie that had helped me make it this far without pukin' my guts up had all but vanished and I was beginnin' to crave another cigarette. I knew I could have just turned around and asked for one from Sunny but, hell, that little bit of pride I was hangin' onto was a stubborn bastard.

I sighed and, takin' in a deep breath, I breathed in the smell of the river below us. It smelled foul, of fish and waste and probably an odd body or two, but the stench of the river revived me. I wasn't tired, and I wasn't sick. But I did still want a smoke.

That's when I heard it. That same crackin' sound from before, the same faint smell of smoke. I glanced over to my side and saw Sunny standin' there, her arms draped lazily—or, really, what she hoped looked lazily; she was just as bad an actor as me and Spot—over the side. There were two cigarettes in her mouth, both lit.

I don't know how I knew she wanted something, maybe it's because she was as predictable as she thought I was. Without even so much as a "thank you", I took one of the cigarettes.

She was starin' at me. As I puffed away on the cigarette, her beautiful eyes never left my profile.

Yup. She definitely wanted something.

"Yeah?"

"What?"

"Don't give me that 'what' bullshit, Sunny? I can tell from your face that somethin's up. What's on your mind?"

Ya know, I didn't think that Sunny was gonna answer me. I thought she was gonna just shake her head, mutter that "it was nothing" and continue across the Bridge—but I was wrong. Sunny had bigger balls than I had given her credit for.

"Alright, Skitts, I gotta know. Why… why _now… _are ya lookin' for Jack Kelly?"

I kinda figured that was what it was. From the second I gave up that name to Spot Conlon back in his… accounting firm, I knew Sunny wouldn't rest until she knew what was goin' on – and exactly what part she played in it.

And she called _me_ predictable. Ha.

I took a nice long drag off of that smoke, takin' my time in answerin' her question. I could see that Sunny was gettin' antsy, her gloved fingers absently playin' with the full skirt of her pale frock. It was attractive, too. I wonder if she did it on purpose.

Finally, when the cigarette had been half smoked and I knew Sunny wouldn't hold out on an answer for much longer, I decided to give one. I lazily blew the smoke out through my mouth, makin' a half-assed smoke ring in the process, before, "Simple, Sun. I got to make things right. I owe it to Cowboy to say I'm sorry for… for what happened."

That was not enough of an answer for her. She knew that much already, from what I had told Spot. What she really wanted to know was why, why I was doin' something so foolhardy.

But she didn't ask that. She had something else on her mind, too.

"But Skittery…" she started, and there's something about the way a girl goes all quiet and soft when she's tryin' to tell ya something that's so obvious that she can't believe you don't know yourself. It bothered me to hear that voice. It meant she still cared. Couldn't imagine how but—Damn. "…if you go and see Jack Kelly, it ain't gonna end well. He's gonna kill you."

That Sunny. She's always been a smart one. And quick to forgive and forget, too. I never got the hang of that myself. Pity.

I held my empty hands, fingers outstretched and stained from a decade of smokin' cigarettes, out in front of me in an innocent gesture as I pretended to think over what she had said.

"Well," I said, kinda mimickin' the way that Sunny had spoken. It sounded like I was lookin' down at her and, since that was what I wanted, I was glad. I let my cracked lips curve upwards into a grin that I hoped looked as wicked as I wanted it to, "here's hopin' that Cowboy is as predictable as we are."

Sunny looked almost frightened at my answer but, whether it was from my intended discomfortin' look or the undeniable meaning behind those words, I'll never know. It didn't matter to me. I set the mood enough by admittin' the real reason behind my stupid return and Sunny… Sunny played the role of scandalized accomplice perfectly.

Not that I blamed her, really. I guess it _is _quite eerie to be eagerly anticipatin' your own death.

* * *

Author's Note: _I want to thank everyone who had been reviewing this story so far. This is a weird style for me to work with and it makes me feel glad that it's being received. So, yes… thank you all! And here's the next chapter, woot._


	4. Just about to pull a Brodie

Disclaimer: _This story features characters from Disney's 1992 musical, _Newsies. _I do no stake any claim to them and they are used for fictional purposes only. Any other character is either the property of this author or the creator of said character._

--

**Pick Your Poison**

--

It was kinda nice, ya know, what with me standin' there, lookin' over Sunny, knowin' that there wasn't anything she could say or I could say that would make this second any less odd. I was holdin' this one over her—holdin' my upcomin' demise and all that over her, too, for all she knew—and it made me glad. Kinda made her comin' along with me worth it, ya know?

But I couldn't stare at that worried face for long. The cigarette was hangin' off of her lip, forgotten, and her eyes were wide—I could make 'em out even in this darkness—and I just couldn't look at her. I knew she had questions, tons more of 'em, and I didn't want to answer them.

I turned my head away from her and looked over the edge of the damn Bridge. Sunny may not have taken a puff off of her smoke but mine was almost gone. I finished it off with one long, hard drag, all too aware of the silence, before pluckin' the ends outta my mouth with two dirt-stained fingers. Thank God for the dark, I couldn't see how dirty I was. Baths were a luxury I just couldn't afford.

"Skittery…"

Ah, well. There went the silence.

She had sighed kinda quietly before talkin' but, right then, I didn't want to hear it. I liked the quiet. I liked knowin' that the truth—the God's honest truth—had the power of shuttin' Sunny Willows up. So I ignored her. Hell, maybe if I pretended like I ain't heard her, she'd shut her trap.

I looked down at the cigarette stub that was bein' held between my fingers. It was still burnin' a bit but a lifetime of handlin' fire has made the tips of my fingers harder than… well, something hard. I guess I'm too used to the pain, anyway. Even if it was burnin' at my fingertips, I don't know if I'd notice.

My attention wasn't even really on the cigarette. I was lookin' past it, starin' down into the darkness below me. Without listenin' to what Sunny was goin' on about, I tried to hear. I could hear the water flowin' on underneath the Bridge and, even though it was hard to know just how high up we was, given the dark, I felt a bit of the queasiness returnin' and I took in a deep breath. It still stunk but I guess I was gettin' used to it.

I kept my arms on the side of the bridge. As long as my arms stayed there and my feet didn't move any closer, I knew I'd be alright. My gut didn't hurt too much, then. I exhaled. Almost there.

But, ya know, a couple more minutes break wouldn't hurt, right? Beides, I'd get to Norfolk Street when I got there. Jack wasn't expectin' me, anyway. No one ever did.

The cigarette was still smolderin' in my hand. I musta forgotten about it. Oops.

I didn't need to be bothered with it now that I remembered all about it. So, with a sudden jerk and a quick release of my fingers, I let it drop. Sunny was still talkin', I still wasn't listenin'.

The cigarette continued to fall.

I was able to get a measure of just how up we was from that cigarette. That little red dot got smaller and smaller as it fell before bein' swallowed up by the river below us and disappearin' forever. It took a few seconds for the red to get out of my sight and I wondered if, if I fell, would I fall for that long? The near weightless ends of a smoke didn't make a splash. How big of a splash would I make?

I don't know what made me think of it. I always thought that any way to go would be better than drownin' but, right then, the idea started to grow on me a bit. It really wouldn't take that long and, hell, it couldn't hurt as much as what Jack's gonna do to me, right?

And, ya never know, jumpin' over the side of the Bridge might not even do me in. Awhile back, back when I was still a kid and I didn't even know nothing about the Brooklyn Bridge, some guy pulled a stunt and jumped off the side. I mean, I don't know if he really did or not but all the fellas said he did. Said he jumped and didn't die and, because he didn't die, he made a real name for himself.

Steve Brodie. They called him the Champion Bridge-Jumper of the World. As if there was some other fool who did the same thing…

I don't know what made me think of ol' Steve Brodie or that stunt he pulled but, there I was, without even meanin' to, just leanin' forward, about ready to take the plunge. And all I was thinkin' about was how some dope, back when I was a kid, took a leap off of the Brooklyn Bridge and didn't die. And, if he could do it, why couldn't I?

Hell, like I said before… it's crazy the shit that goes through your mind when ya got nothin' better to think of. Because I didn't want to think of Sunny Willows or Jack Kelly or Spot Conlon, I was thinkin' of takin' a dive off of a bridge that I've been afraid of—well, not afraid, more like nervous—for half my damn life.

Interestin'.

So, yeah, there I was, just about to pull a goddamn Brodie without even rememberin' about what I had came to the City to do, when Sunny did something that I shoulda thanked her for. She grabbed my arm.

Maybe it was the squeeze of her fingers, or the soft touch of her glove but it brought me back. The real Skittery—the coward, the bum—came back. I pulled away from the Bridge. And I was gonna fuckin' _jump_ too.

I musta lost my damn mind.

"Skitts? You okay?"

Her voice made my stomach drop. Sunny. She was still there and I was gonna jump.

I shook my head. "Yeah, Sun. I'm fin—"

That's when the damn cough started up again. I wasn't expectin' it and I couldn't stop it. It started, just like it always did: deep in my chest and fillin' up my lungs and throat with all sorts of junk. Just like I always did, I lowered my head, hidin' my open mouth and the way my eyes always seemed to water when the fit was done.

Ah, shit. I knew I wasn't fine at all. And, of course, Sunny had to know that, too. Of all the damn luck.

Finally, though, the coughin' stopped and there was quiet. I didn't say nothing as I picked my head up, and neither did Sunny. Maybe she figured she'd asked enough questions for now. Maybe she figured she got enough answers. Either way, she said nothing.

With a rough hand, I wiped at my eyes. I'd be damned if she thought that I was cryin'. "Come on," I said, spittin' the words out. "Let's go."

She didn't say anything as we started up our walk again. Still walkin' a few steps behind me, I had a partial view of her as she started to follow me. Sunny let the cigarette fall from her lips and settle against the floor. Only then, when I could barely make out her eerily quiet voice above the c_lack—_c_lack_—c_lack _of her heels, did she have somethin' to say. "You ain't, Skitts. Not one bit."

I wondered what she meant but I didn't ask. I was afraid—nervous—that, if I opened my mouth again, only more coughs would come out. And the fits… the fits were always so much worse than just one fuckin' cough.

--

"Skittery. Hey… hey, Skitts…"

I jumped. Now, I wasn't scared or nothing but, I'll tell ya, I wasn't expectin' Sunny to start talkin' again. We had made it across the rest of the stupid Bridge without none of us sayin' another word, so why was she startin' up again?

"What now, Sunny?"

I didn't mean to be that short with her but, yeah… I was still waitin' for her to get on my back about that damn cough and, even though I'd known it was comin', I didn't want to deal with it.

When she didn't answer, I looked over my shoulder. She had stopped a couple of paces behind me but she didn't look mad at me—from what I could tell, at least. In fact, it looked to me like she was… worried, maybe? I guess that's how I could describe it. She was standin' still and her hands were held out in front of her, as if she was wardin' something off.

I scowled. I still don't know what the hell was goin' on in Spot Conlon's head when he shipped Sunny off with me but, God, do I wish I could just smack him for it. This was not what I needed. What I needed was to get my ass back over the Bridge, find Cowboy, and finish this. What I didn't need was Sunny pullin' this crap. "What is it?"

That's when I heard it. A similar c_lack—_c_lack—_c_lack,_ soundin' just like Sunny's heels did. Even though I couldn't see no one, someone was definitely walkin' up to the Bridge—with us still on it. I swallowed. With my luck, it would be Jack Kelly, huntin' me down instead of the other way around.

It wasn't. Thank the Lord. It wasn't even a man. When who ever it was got close enough to us that we could make out a face, I saw a chest instead. A big one—real buxom—attached to a thick woman about Sunny's age, maybe a couple years older. Her hair was thin and hangin' there, and, I think, a dark reddish color. Dyed, probably. No one's hair's that color for real.

She was walkin' with a bit of a swagger and a sway, stompin' onto the Brooklyn Bridge as we was just about makin' our way off of it. I don't know if she saw us comin' the way I saw—and, hell, heard—her comin', but she stopped. Big, meaty hands covered that chest. "Sunny, kid? Where are you? It _is _you, right?"

She didn't even look at me. She was lookin' past me, tryin' to find Sunny in the darkness. This big broad was a pal of Sunny's. I wasn't surprised, neither. I mean, look at me—look at Spot—look at… yeah. Sunny had some real strange taste in who she knew.

When she heard her name called Sunny lost that frightened look. She grinned and hurried forward. C_lack—_c_lack—_c_lack_. "Oh, Jesus Christ, Betty. It's you. You almost scared me half to death, sneakin' up on me and Skittery. What are you doin' here?"

"Skittery. Hmph." She was lookin' at me now, lookin' me up and down. I didn't like it and wished it was even darker than it was. She was a scary dame and, I admit, I got a bit nervous. And, to make it worse, it didn't seem like she liked me all that much. "I heard about him again."

I curled my fingers into fists at my side, almost not even knowin' I did it. The way she said that annoyed me. I didn't know this… this—what did Sunny call her? Betty? — Betty at all, and she was… she was judgin' me. I didn't like that, not one bit. Who was she to judge me?

"Yeah," I said, not even noticin' how nasty I sounded. Sunny did and I could feel the soft touch of her glove on my arm. I ignored it, but my heart sure didn't, the damn thing speedin' up the way it did. I talked even louder to cover it up. "Ya heard? About me, eh? Yeah? Alright… what did you hear?"

The look she gave me reminded me of how I used to look before steppin' on any bug that happened in front of my path—disgusted but without a hint of mercy. I'd crush them without a second thought and this dame… she'd do the same to me. Yeah. Real scary dame, that Betty. Calmed my heart down right quick.

I'm pretty damn sure that Sunny could tell that something was about to happen. My mouth was open and a couple of words that would've rivaled what I said to her were about to be let loose but she interrupted them, her hand still on my arm. "Skittery, this is Betty. Betty Miller. She helps ol' man Walters run Sunshine's."

Sunshine's, shit. I should've known. Where else could a girl like Sunny have met someone like this Betty?

Sunny was still talkin' but not to me. She was lookin' at Betty and I could tell from the way her nose was wrinkled that she was confused about something. "Betty, what are you doin' here, this time of night? Aren't you supposed to be watchin' over the girls?"

"I left Sierra and the new kid in charge of the girls, Sun. I came to get you. Harry sent me."

I don't know whose head moved first, mine or Sunny's. All I know is that, almost at the same time, we turned to look at each other. I couldn't help it. I was probably as curious as her, wonderin' just what the hell Betty was doin', lurkin' at the edge of the Manhattan side of the Bridge.

But I didn't want Sunny to know I was curious. It weren't my business, after all. I shrugged, movin' away from her—her hand fell to her side and she turned her head away.

"Comin' to get me, Betty? What for? I mean," she said, soundin' much more like herself after a deep breath, louder instead of quiet like a mouse, "how did you and Harry know I'd be here? I only just left Spot's place about an hour ago."

Betty nodded. "Yeah, I know. One of Spot's boys moonlights over at the theatre every now and th—"

"I know. Paul Owen does."

Betty looked impressed. I guess I was, too. If all she did at Spot's… accounting firm was keep the boss entertained, how did she know something like that? Real interestin' that… Maybe if me and Sunny ever got around to havin' a civil conversation, I'd have to bring that up.

"Yeah, Paulie. Anyway, Harry—"

"Harry Walters. He owns Sunshine's," Sunny added. She must have been sayin' it for me but, since I was pretendin' that I wasn't interested, I didn't answer her. She turned her attention back to Betty. "How is Harry?"

Now, I don't know if Betty knew what Sunny was doin' but I did. Kid hadn't changed one bit in seven years. If she didn't want to hear about something, or do something, or answer a question, Sunny always just went around it—by changin' the subject or created a diversion. That's what she was doin' now. I'd bet anything on it.

"He's fine, Sunny. And he's doing his best for one of his old girls by checking up on you. He's been having your Paulie keep an eye on you, in case Conlon gets a little rough, in return for a couple of dollars a week. Paulie's a good guy, doesn't go back on a deal, so he gives Harry an update on you whenever he can."

I snuck a peek at Sunny. She didn't seem all that surprised that her old boss was keepin' tabs on her. Me, I would have been ready to pick a fight over that… but not Sunny. She just nodded along, bobbin' her head as Betty went on. Must be some sort of burlesque thing; kinda like how the newsies—back when we was still dumb enough to believe in brotherhood, loyalty and malarkey like that—always watched out for each other.

But then Jack had to go and… yeah. Not the time to get back into _that _again. Not now. Not until the apology…

"Yeah, so, as soon as you and… and this guy here," Betty was sayin', jerking a thumb in my direction; I couldn't figure why, but she sure as hell had something against me, "left Conlon's, he gave Harry a call. Figured it's the first time that Conlon let you out of his sight in awhile and we might like to hear about it. Harry was tickled and sent me out right away. He wants me to bring you back with me to the theatre tonight. He says it's been too long, Sunny."

Sunny was hesitatin' then and, for a second, I didn't feel too bad at the way this big lady was treatin' me. This was perfect—I could continue on my way to Norfolk Street and get rid of Sunny at the same time. I nodded. I could tell that Sunny was lookin' at me out of the corner of her without her Betty knowin' it. I nodded again, just in case she wanted me to answer for her.

"Betty, I don't know…"

I guess she didn't.

"C'mon, Sun. I know you got," she glanced at me again, beady eyes lookin' me up and down again, "business to tend to, but it won't take long to say hey to the girls. And it ain't like whatever you got to do can't wait until morning, huh?"

I decided it was about time to throw in my two cents. "Don't worry about me, Sunny. I can take care of myself. You go on with your pal. I'll catch up with ya after I… I do what I gotta do. I'll be alright."

Ya know, I think if I didn't add that last bit that she would have done it. She would've gone off with Betty, gone to Sunshine's and I would've been able to go off on my own. But I opened my mouth and, like always, said too much. One damn word too many, I think. Shit.

Sunny shook her head, her hands on her hips again. "No, Skitts. You won't."

Her words hit me like a sucker punch to the gut. I knew what she meant now—the same thing she had meant when she muttered under her breath after my last coughing fit. Goddamn it, I think she knew.

And, ya know, she said those words so sharply, but so quietly, that I was thrown for a bit. Hell, even Betty drew back. I guess she could tell that there was some kind of hidden meanin' to Sunny's words. She laughed, a manly, deep laugh, tryin' to break up the sudden nerves that Sunny's words had caused. "Course he will, Sun. Your Skittery here is a big boy and, 'sides, it's been ages since you came by the theatre."

Sunny was still lookin' at me. She seemed to be sizin' me up and it made me nervous. I ran my hand through my hair, tryin' to look like I wasn't bothered by her. I don't think she bought it.

"You're right, Betty. And I'd love to say hi to all the girls… but I can't."

Her eyes hadn't left my side yet. I don't know if she was waitin' for me to meet her gaze or if she was just tryin' to make me nervous, but, either way, I kept my face forward and my mouth shut. This was _exactly_ why I didn't want her comin' along. One thing. One thing I came to Manhattan to do and the whole thing got so goddamn ridiculous.

Spot Conlon, if I make it out of this alive, before I take any sorts of jumps, I'm comin' for you.

And, ya know, if it wasn't for the amount of time left, I'd just say fuck it and go home. But I couldn't. So, instead, I stood there, quiet and frozen, on the outer end of the Brooklyn Bridge. Definitely not how I thought I'd be spendin' my trip in the City. Not at all.

"But, Sunny, Harry says—"

Just then, big Betty didn't seem so frightenin' no more. I guess bein' turned down by the like of Sunny Willows—altogether tiny and seemingly harmless Sunny Willows—was enough to take the edge off of evenin' the thickest dames.

Sunny smiled apologetically, but she was firm. "I can't, Betty. Spot told me to go with him, so I'm goin'. Ya can't say no to Spot Conlon. You know that." Betty nodded, deflatin' a little as she realized that Sunny really was serious, realized that Sunny really wasn't gonna take her up on her offer and visit the damn burlesque theatre.

I guess I was deflatin' a bit, too. I really thought I'd be rid of Sunny. But I wasn't gonna be—I really was gonna have to face Jack Kelly with her in tow. Lovely.

Sunny still wasn't done. Her voice made her sound like the little spitfire she had been, back when she was just startin' out at Sunshine's. Back when I first met her, and first called her Sunny. She was angry and was havin' one hell of a time controllin' that anger. It made me hot, too.

But not for long. Her next words were even worse than the other ones. This time, when Sunny all but whispered her partin' shot, I felt as if a cold bucket of ice water had just been dumped over my head. Instead of bein' refreshin', like ice can be on a hot, Manhattan summer day, it just made me tense and feelin' as if I had been stabbed all over with small, invisible knives.

"And 'sides," she added, almost as if she had forgotten… or as if she didn't want no one to forget, "he ain't my Skittery no more."

_Whoosh. _

Did ya hear that?

Yeah… that was the sound of the last bit of pride I had, goin' up in a puff of smoke.

Thanks, Sun. I owe ya one.

* * *

Author's Note: _Thank you wikipedia for the trivia I find when aimlessly searching your database. I owe this chapter—and Skittery's suicidal thoughts—to you… and, of course, Steve Brodie._


	5. The trials of Racetrack's comb

Disclaimer: _This story features characters from Disney's 1992 musical, _Newsies. _I do no stake any claim to them and they are used for fictional purposes only. Any other character is either the property of this author or the creator of said character._

--

**Pick Your Poison**

--

_It was pretty damn quiet in the bunkroom, 'specially seein' how it was a Friday night. Every newsie worth his salt knew that Saturday was one of the roughest days to sell a pape and, 'cause of that, he don't mean to mess around on Friday night… even though he usually does. Ya see, on Saturday, everybody and their brother is out on the street, doin' what they gotta do and stoppin' to hear what a street rat's got to say, even if he's got a fresh pape in his hand, ain't one of them. So, in order to make any dough, a workin' boy's gotta cover a lot of ground and to make sure he's got the stuff to walk all over, he needs to get his sleep._

_None of the boys usually do and tonight's no exception. With the sun gettin' ready to go down and night really comin' upon us all, there was only two people in the bunkroom of the ol' lodging house: me and Race. Me… I was gettin' ready to head on out, pacin' back and forth, waitin' for Tumbler to come back. And Race… Race was—_

_Wait. What the hell_ was _Race doin'?_

_He was sittin' on the floor, his back up against his bunk, leanin' over something. It was quiet enough that I could hear him mutterin' something under his breath, and I could see his right arm movin' all jerky-like. Ya know, I ain't too sure I wanted to know what he was doin'… but I asked anyway._

_"Hey, Race? What ya up to?"_

_He lifted up his head and looked over his shoulder. I was sittin' on my bunk—top bunk, damn right—and, when he saw my feet swingin' absently over the side, he looked up. His joker's grin was in place and I could see those crooked teeth of his as he said, "Poker game comin' up in Brooklyn next Thursday. My turn to bring a deck, ya know." He lifted both hands up in the air. The left one was holdin' onto a fairly new deck of card, the right one was clutchin' a worn, nicked knife. "Just helpin' the luck along, Skitts."_

_Look at him, cuttin' up his cards like that. Can't really blame him, though. The last time he snuck over the Brooklyn Bridge to play bettin' draw poker against Spot Conlon and his boys, Race came back with his knickers and his hat but not much else. Cheatin' by markin' the deck… I had to hand it to Race. I don't think I'd ever have the nerve to try to pull somethin' like that over on Spot Conlon._

_"Good one," I said, nodding. _

_Just then, as my head moved, I could feel my hair, the mess that it was, floppin' about. I felt the longish bits in the front settle and I pushed it back with my hand, feelin' like a real dope. There I was, gettin' ready to go on out on what was probably the most important night of my entire damn life and, look at me, I hadn't even bothered to spruce myself up. _

_What I needed was a quick splash of water at the pump and to run a comb through my hair. I may not be classy like some of the fellas over on the west side but I know it ain't right to call on my girl lookin' like a hobo. But where the hell was I supposed to find a comb? It ain't like I use one all the time. For me, a hat is for coverin' up any messes—but it ain't right to wear a hat when callin' on a lady either. _

_Shit._

_And there I was, without a com—wait a second. I might not own a comb no longer, I'll blame Sunny for that, but Race… he's got one. A good one, too, only missin' a coupla teeth. Hell, everyone knows he's got it, that he parts and combs and greases down his black hair every mornin' before headin' out to Sheepshead's. I could bum it off of him._

_I jerked my chin out, tryin' to look like I wasn't really askin' but more like tellin'. "Hey, Race. Do a pal a favor and let me see your comb."_

_"My comb?"__ He was still lookin' over his shoulder at me, lookin' real confused. "What for?"_

_Since when did Racetrack get so damn nosy? I'll be damned if I tell him about Sunny, though. I didn't want none of the fellas knowin' about Sunny, about Sunny and me—just in case they got any ideas, ya know? Or I jinxed myself… "What do you mean, what for? I know ya got a comb. Let me use it." _

_His tiny, wizened face screwed up then as if he was thinkin'. His beady little eyes were squintin' as he looked me over before he nodded. I wasn't all that surprised, really, at how long it took for him to answer me. Race was a real vain fella, always makin' sure his hair was lookin' good and wearin' that fancy plaid vest he had. Askin' him to borrow his comb was almost as bad as tryin' to bum a smoke off of him—damn near impossible. _

_Race surprised me—but only a little. "Alright, Skittery. I'll let you borrow my comb. If—"_

_With a guy like Racetrack Higgins there ain't ever an easy yes or no. He liked to wheel and deal almost as much as he liked to gamble. Problem with that, though, was that he was much better at makin' a deal than gamblin'._

_"—if you come along with me to Brooklyn for the poker game. I figure, if you're there, maybe you'll take Spot's attention off of me for a bit. I could use my deck easier that way."_

_He said the word of Brooklyn and I was already shakin' my head. No thank you. "Never mind, Race. You can be stingy all you want, ya mook. I don't need your comb that bad."_

_Race must have been done with doin' up his cards 'cause he tossed the deck and the knife on top of his bunk before walkin' over to me. He was wearin' that look of his, the one where his lips curved back a bit and his head was bobbin', up and down, up and down. I knew it—he wasn't gonna let it go._

_"This ain't still about you bein' afraid of the Brooklyn Bridge, is it?" He was still noddin' at me and, I tell ya, if I wasn't still sittin' up on my bunk, I woulda smacked the smirk off of his face. But I was and climbin' down to slap Race wasn't really worth it. _

_Besides, why couldn't Race just go back to whatever scam he was aimin' to pull without botherin' me? Yeah, it was me who asked him for his comb and shit but still… it ain't like I insulted his mother or nothin'. There was no reason why he had to bring up me bein' afraid of a stupid Bridge. I wasn't scared—more like nervous, really._

_He was watchin' me, standin' on the ground, right by the side of my bunk. I guess baitin' me was more fun than puttin' little cuts into a deck of cards. Great. _

_"It is, isn't it?" he asked, his fuckin' smirk growin' as he tilted his head back to look at me, the short bastard. He reached out a stubby little hand and slapped my shin. "C'mon, Skittery. Ya gotta stop bein' so… well, damn skittery. Get out, ya know. Live life."_

_I tried not to wince. His hand had hit my shin—that didn't hurt—but the back of my leg knocked into the wooden frame of the bunk and, I ain't gonna lie, it smarted. I wasn't gonna tell that to Race, though. Instead, I held up my hands. "I am, Race. And, if you don't mind, I'd like to keep on doin' that. It's kinda hard to be alive if you're floatin' down in the icy cold East River, all bloated up and dead."_

_If there's one thing I could say about Race, it's that the guy has one hell of a sense of humor. Nothin' could keep him down, he always found a way to rise up against it all. Not even the idea of fallin' off the Brooklyn Bridge bothered him—knowin' Race, he'd probably stop fallin' to take bets on how long it would take for him to hit the water._

_He shook his head, still smilin'. "Glum and dumb, Skittery. You'll never change." Damn right, too. If glum and dumb meant that I had a head on my shoulders and wasn't gettin' no fancy ideas of cheatin' Spot Conlon, then I'm pretty proud of bein' so damn glum… but the dumb part—yeah, that I don't need so much._

_Race snapped his fingers just then and cracked a grin. "I'll make a deal with ya. You come with me to Brooklyn, I'll let you use my comb, plus I'll buy you a drink. You can't turn down a deal like that, eh, Skitts?"_

_"Course I can. If I don't wanna go, I ain't gonna, Race. Find someone else to go with ya to con Conlon. Maybe Bumlets or Swifty or one of the other guys is free… it's not like they got anything to do, anyway."_

_Sometimes I wonder why I don't just keep my trap shut. It's like… I open up my mouth and out comes a whole lot of nonsense, most of it shit I don't want anyone else to hear. This was one of them times. Race could tell something was up—as if me askin' for his comb wasn't enough to make him all suspicious-like._

_"Yeah, maybe," Race said, lazily drawing out that last word as he turned around and braced his back against the wood of my bunk. "But I never thought I'd see the day that Skittery'd turn down a free drink." I couldn't see just how his face was as he added that last wise remark and that made me nervous. _

_And, when I get nervous, I keep on talkin'. Dumb of me, I know. I really gotta work on that._

_I leaned forward, tryin' to look over Race's head so I could get a better shot of his mug. "How's about this, buddy? If everythin' goes alright tonight, I'll buy_ you_ a drink."_

_I think I knew I'd said the wrong thing right away. Race's head whipped around, even though the rest of his body didn't move, and he was starin' at me. I'm surprised he didn't knock his noggin on the wood, he moved it that damn fast. "What's goin' on tonight, Skittery? Huh? It's gotta be something big if you was lookin' to borrow my comb. You don't ever use a comb. Where ya headin' off to?" Then, as if it just came to him, he smirked. "You've got someone ya gotta see, Skitts? A girlie, perhaps?"_

_Shit. How was I gonna get out of this one? I made a promise to myself that, after Specs and Dutchy brought me by Sunshine's that first time, I'd never tell none of the other fellas about Sunny. It's been close to a year now and none of them know about her—I think—and I wasn't about to let that change._

_Racetrack—sometimes he was just too nosy for his damn good._

_"Uh…"_

_Thank God for Tumbler. The kid came stompin' up the lodging house steps at just the perfect moment. He hurried into the bunkroom, completely ignorin' Race, comin' over to the side of my bunk. "Hey, Skittery. I got these flowers for ya, just like ya asked me to."_

_They were a scraggly bunch of flowers, clutched tightly in his small hand. Considerin' I'd only had a dime or two to spare on the flowers, they weren't as bad as they coulda been. Most of 'em was yellow with a couple white ones thrown in—daisies, I'd wager. Sunny's favorite._

_Leanin__' over to the other side, I reached my hand down and took the flowers. With my other hand, I ruffled Tumbler's unruly dark hair. He'd done good. "Thanks, kid. I owe ya."_

_Tumbler tried to duck away and I really didn't blame him. I ain't one to get so touchy-feely and, I guess, he ain't either. But he was wearin' a grin, so I could tell he was proud of himself. Good kid._

_Race was watchin' me again. He musta been interested in what was goin' on, and why Tumbler was bringin' me flowers—at the very least, he wasn't standin' there with his back to me no more. He had moved all the ways around, his hands crossed over his chest. He didn't say anything right away. He musta been comin' up with something real good instead._

_Well, I wasn't about to wait around for anymore of his smartass questions or observations. I could already hear him: "What, Skitts, somethin' goin' on between you and Tumbler? Is that it? I mean, the kid did bring ya flowers and all." I shook my head. I wasn't gonna let him get to me. I had enough on my mind for one night._

_"What, Skitts—"_

_See, I told ya. He was startin' already. I held up the hand not holdin' the flowers. "Nope, Race. Can't talk no more. Got somethin' to do tonight." Then, pretty darn proud of myself that my gruff talk had done something that was hard to do—shuttin' Race up—I moved my legs so that they was on the other side of the bunk—the side where Race wasn't—and I jumped. _

_Tumbler clapped. "That was nifty, Skittery. Didn't pop a knee or nothin'. Can ya teach me to do that?"_

_And Race just reached into the pocket of his vest for a half-smoked cigar. He was noddin', still lookin' amused as he waved his free hand toward the washin' up area. "The comb's over by the mirror, Skittery," he said, tryin' to sound all calm-like, as if he wasn't the least bit curious to what I was doin'. I guess he figured he'd know soon enough. And, if everything went as planned, he would. " You… uh… you get back to me on Brooklyn, right?"_

_Racetrack Higgins… ya know, he ain't that half bad of a fella, sometimes._

* * *

Author's Note: _I hope that this didn't confuse anybody. But, you guys want answers—and this is the beginning of them all. This chapter is, in case you did get confused, a flashback chapter. There should be a couple more like this, too. We'll be going back and forth between Skittery—now (in 1907) and Skittery—then (in 1900). It'll be… interesting. I'll say that, at least ;) _


	6. Following a set of traitorous feet

Disclaimer: _This story features characters from Disney's 1992 musical, _Newsies. _I do no stake any claim to them and they are used for fictional purposes only. Any other character is either the property of this author or the creator of said character._

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**Pick Your Poison**

--

"Skittery? Hey, Skittery? Where are you goin'?"

I shook my head. To be sure, I ain't too sure where I was goin'. I knew my feet were movin' and I could feel my hands hangin' down at my side, movin' back and forth, but that was it. My head was foggy, thinkin' of only God knows what and, I don't know when, I'd started to walk forward again.

Now that she said something, I stopped and shrugged. Not only didn't I know where I was headin' off to, but, just then, I had no idea where I was. Without lookin' over my shoulder and catchin' her eye, I started to look around. I was hopin' that that would be enough for me to figure out where I was and where I was goin' but it wasn't. The only thing I knew was that I musta been walkin' for a bit 'cause I didn't even see that goddamn Bridge anymore.

Or Betty either. Hey, wait… where _was_ that dame?

"Say, Sunny, where did your, uh, your pal… where'd she disappear off to?"

Ya know, I didn't even have to turn my head to tell that she was glarin' at me. I could feel it. "Now don't go trying to change the subject, there, Skittery. I'm onto you."

Me? Changin' the subject? I wouldn't have thought she'd catch onto it. 'Sides, what was she goin' to do about it, anway? Nothing. That's what.

I shrugged again. "I ain't changin' the subject, Sun," I told her, lyin' my ass off. Why did she need to know that I was lost anyhow? "I was just wonderin' where big Betty went. Is that a crime?"

I heard her sigh and knew that she wasn't going to push it—just yet, anyway. "No, of course not." Wavin' one of her fancy gloved hands about Sunny added, "And Betty left a bit ago. She said she had some more of Harry's business to tend to, if you weren't listening, Skitts. She continued onto the Brooklyn Bridge just as you got off of it. I had to hurry after you, I didn't even really get to say goodbye to her."

There was some kind of girly pout to her voice and I guessed she was tryin' her best to make me fell guilty. It wasn't workin', mainly 'cause she was more interested in tryin' to figure out what where I was goin' to. Predictable as all hell she was, that Sunny.

She asked again, "So, where were you going, Skittery? You were walking and walking and, I'll tell you, I don't know if you know where you're going to."

How could she tell? Really. I didn't think I made bein' lost look so obvious but there she was, still harpin' on the fact that I didn't tell her where I was goin'. I guess I wasn't headin' off towards Norfolk Street, 'cause, if I was, she wouldn't still be botherin' me. But where the hell was I?

Tryin' to act like I wasn't doin' it, I looked around me but… nope. I still couldn't figure where I was. I don't know, there's gotta be something about New York at night. Every damn street looks just the same and it takes real know-how to find your way about.

I didn't have any kind of know-how.

Ya know, right then, I was _really _beginnin' to feel those seven years. For all the talk I gave Conlon about still knowin' my way around, I was lost. Real lost. Stuck on some side street in a city I ain't seen in ages, I was lost.

Lovely.

And, yeah, I'd be damned if I was gonna admit that to Sunny. Sunny, who was standin' there with a bit of a know-it-all grin on her pretty face. Sunny, who was toein' the dirt aimlessly, waitin' for me to just—for once—open up to her and tell her the damn truth.

Yeah, that'll be the day.

I coughed—compared to my earlier fits, it sounded as fake as it was— and jerked my head in the direction we'd been headin' in. "I do know, for your information, exactly where I'm goin'. It's too late to go huntin' for Cowboy," I told her, glad as hell that Betty had put the idea into my head. I woulda gone on and woke him up, too if it wasn't for her smart ass remark earlier. "Since we can't go to Norfolk, I thought that we'd…" I shook my head, impatient. "You'll see, alright? Just—just follow me if you want to, okay?"

Sunny didn't need to know that I didn't know, right? Right. I didn't need to feel guilty for gettin' short with her again. Besides, I ain't sure that I won't know for that much longer. I decided to trust that my feet were gonna take me to a good enough spot, whether it was Norfolk Street, Bleekman Street or, hell, even Bridge Street.

Good feet I got. They'd never really steered me wrong before.

She didn't say a word. Still amused—I don't know why, either; I mean, it was dark, it was late and we was lost… why was she still smilin'?—and only bein' quiet to humor me, she picked up the ends of her skirt with gloved hands and started to walk on.

Finally.

I gotta say, I was glad for the quiet. If there was one thing I can say without thinkin' I might be wrong it's that dames talk too damn much. Yap, yap yap,_ yap yap_… Constantly. Jeez.

Sometimes a fella's got to have some quiet to just think. And, with Sunny finally shut up, that's exactly what I started to do.

I thought so much and for so long that I didn't even notice that path that my so-called trusted feet had taken. I didn't realize that the traitors had stopped movin' until the c_lack—_c­_lack_—c_lack _of Sunny's heels was no longer part of the background noise. The only thing I heard was a high-pitched titter that sent the hairs on the back of my neck on end.

Sunny was laughin' at me. I didn't know why—and I wasn't too sure I wanted to. But, I don't know how, I started to get the sinkin' suspicion that I knew exactly where those bastards had taken me.

Ah, hell. Tell me I didn't just follow my feet down to Sunshine's.

From the corner of my eye I could see the familiar sign and, almost right away, I began to feel sick to my stomach. I was glad I hadn't had time to eat a real supper yet, this hurling feeling woulda been much worse if I had, considerin' how many times I've felt sick since meetin' back up with Sunny.

Well, at least I knew why she'd been smilin'. She musta known right off the bat that I was leadin' us towards the ol' burlesque joint. I guess she just wanted to hear me say it. Damn it.

Sunshine's, with its seedy, dark windows but white lettered front, advertisin' it as a 'tasteful entertainment venue'… Sunshine's, it was still the dump I hated to remember.

Alright, maybe dump's too harsh of a word to call it. I might have been lettin' a hardened memory make it something it ain't but still… it was a small, dingy joint, with one door and two dark, dirty windows. There was a wrapper or two of some rubbish stuck to the brick wall—might have been a pape, now that I think of it—and the outer edge of the marquee sign was cracked. But, apart from that, it had held up.

Not to mention that it's been seven years and Harry Walters has still managed to stay in business. Gotta give the ol' coot a bit a credit. He musta bribed half the district to keep his doors open. Everyone knew what kinda place Sunshine's was.

I couldn't believe that, after all this time, I'd still been able to find my way to the place. I didn't know whether that was a good sign or a bad, considerin', but I didn't have the time to think on it. Before I knew it Sunny had her dainty hand wrapped around my upper arm. She was pullin' on it.

"Come on, Skittery. Since we're here, we might as well say hello to the girls. The side entrance is over here."

Listen to that, her pretendin' as if it was just coincidence that led us over here. I don't know, maybe she was tryin' to help me out by not makin' a big deal out of this but it didn't mean that I wanted to actually _go inside_ the joint. Hell, I most definitely did _not_ want to go inside. I opened my mouth to argue with her but… yeah… I never stood a chance.

I shut my mouth. I knew I was goin' into that place, no matter what I thought. I don't when it happened or how it happened but she had all the control right then. This time, I was followin' her.

Great.

Without another word Sunny led me around the side of the building, walkin' right to the stage door and openin' it up. There was no bouncer or nothing guardin' the door and she walked right in. Shrugging, I followed her.

It was real busy inside the small room the door opened into. Girls were half-dressed, comedians workin' on gettin' their stage make-up on. I saw two overly large goons standin' guard in the corners and felt a bit better about this place bein' properly guarded.

It took me a second to realize that, for a second, I had cared about these girls but I shook it off. What did I care about them? This wasn't about them. This wasn't about Sunny. This was about me.

I did not want to be in there.

Sunny greeted a couple of girls but, after sayin' the magic words ("I'm looking for Harry"), she quickly made her way towards the narrow hallway that separated this part of the backroom from others. Keepin' my eyes down—I coulda sworn I heard murmurings that had my name mixed in—I continued to follow her.

The hallway broke off into a couple of other, smaller rooms but Sunny kept goin' straight. Just then, right when we passed a specific stain on the floor that I'd never forgotten, my stomach started to tighten again. I stopped. This wasn't a matter of not wantin' to go on no more. This was a matter of me keepin' my goddamn sanity long enough to get on with what I had to do.

What the hell was I doin' in Sunshine's anyway?

She musta known the sound of my boots as well as I knew her heels because she paused. Lookin' over her shoulder, she met my eyes. She was wearin' some kind of nervous, puzzled look, like she didn't know why I had sotpped—or why, even, I was still followin' her. "Everything alright, Skitts?"

You've got to be kiddin' me, right?

I nodded. "Yeah, sure. Peachy."

She heard the bitterness in my tone, I knew it. But she didn't say nothing about it. Sunny nodded. "Good, good. I'm gonna just go over to Harry's office and say hello. It won't be long."

"Whatever you say, Sunny. I'll meet you outside."

"Um, okay," Sunny still looked nervous but she nodded. "I'll be right out." And she was gone, flouncin' on down that hallway. I didn't see her go—my eyes were glued to the floor—but I could hear her all right.

C_lack_—c_lack_—c_lack…_

Ya know, I was proud of myself. I didn't snap at her or nothing, plus I'd found a way to leave Sunshine's and, if I played my cards right, Sunny, too. I'd tell her that I would meet her outside but, by the time her ol' boss let her go, I'd be halfway back to Madame Rose's. It was perfect.

"Skittery? Skittery Daniels? That you?"

Almost perfect. Shit.

Molly O'Mahoney. I'd know that voice anywhere. Don't tell me that _she_ still works at Sunshine's.

I guess some things don't ever change.

She came out of a doorway that was on my right, adjustin' her tits and pattin' her long, dirty blonde hair. She was wearin' bright red lipstick on her thin lips and, as I dared a look at her, those lips were widenin'. Like a beast about to devour its prey, she was eyein' me.

Molly O'Mahoney.

She was still a good-lookin' dame, as good-lookin' a dame as they come, real handsome, and, I have to say, if it wasn't for me meetin' Sunny first, I'd have tried my best to get with her.

Molly, I remembered, was a year older than Sunny and I think that always bugged her. The girls, back then, looked an awful lot alike, what with their blonde hair and brown eyes but Sunny, on account of her bein' the youngest of Sunshine's girls, always got all the attention. Really, I don't know who hated that more then: Molly or me.

Molly was quite the gal back then and, even though I could see that the years hadn't been as good to her as they had Sunny—her teeth and fingers were as stained as mine by smoke and she had gained a couple of pounds—she still had that air about her. Like she knew more about everything she let on and she'd be damned if she told you. Real feisty, that Molly.

Takin' care not to look off to my left, I turned to her. I looked her up and down, not even tryin' to hide my leerin' eyes. If she really wanted to stand there, showin' off her rack like a whore, I'd give her what she wanted and treat her like one. "Molly. Ya look good."

"Wish I could say the same," she offered back, almost purring even though she was insultin' me, as one of her stubby fingers reached out for a piece of my hair. She pulled on it before wrappin' it around her finger. It hurt, too and I backed away, makin' sure her grabby fingers couldn't get my hair again. She laughed. "What happened to you, Skitts? Not that it matters none, shit. I'd still let ya take me out."

Ya know, it ain't right. First Dave, then Spot, _then _Sunny. Now Molly. If I would have known that I was gonna run into every Tom, Dick and Harry that I knew way back when I woulda cut my damn hair or, hell, shaved even. It was really beginnin' to wear on my nerves, hearin' all the time how much I look like a damn bum.

Shit, doesn't a dyin' man deserve some peace?

She pulled away and laughed, and I hoped it was a laugh of someone who was just foolin' around. I doubted it since she was still too close to me. I backed away, losin' my leer. She was makin' me nervous. "So what do we owe the pleasure of your company, Skittery? Didn't think I'd ever see you back in the City again, I'll tell you that."

"I'm… I'm here with Sunny," I said, feelin' like a right fool for usin' Sunny Willows as an excuse for not even bein' the bit interested in Molly. But what was I supposed to do? I wasn't expectin' this. I wasn't supposed to be even at Sunshine's.

I don't know who I hated more: Spot Conlon or my own fuckin' feet.

"Sunny?" Molly's brown eyes widened and, with the space between us, I saw her rockin' back and forth, back and forth on her heeled shoes. Even higher than Sunny's, too. I'm surprised she didn't fall over, especially considerin' that I don't think she's all that sober. "Whatcha doin' with Spot's girl, Skitts?"

As if I need a reminder of Conlon right then. Thanks, Mol. I shook my head. "Nothin' really. I had somethin' I had to do and she's helpin' me. Spot knows all about it," I added, feelin' like I had to explain myself to her even though I really had no reason to. It was odd.

She nodded, her mind already on something else. I got the feelin' that she wasn't really thinkin' about what she was sayin'. Her eyes were gazin' right at me and I started to feel like a piece of steak myself. "So, Sunny's here? Haven't seen her in ages, not since Spot finally got her to agree to go with him. And that… whew. _That_ took forever. I'm pretty fuckin' surprised he let her out of his damn sight for two seconds. With you, especially, Skitts. Shit."

I cocked my head to the side. Now _that_ caught my attention. I ain't gonna lie. I'd been pretty interested in learnin' about how Sunny came to be with Spot—as she put it—but I didn't want to ask her. But Molly… I could ask Molly.

Or, even better, I could just nod and let Molly tell me herself.

I knew the dame. I gave her a smile in order to help her along—it almost hurt to make the corners of my lips go up for a change—and that was all the encouragement she needed.

Leanin' in, so that there was only a coupla inches separatin' us, she continued to talk, "I swear, I never thought I'd see the day when fuckin' Brooklyn," I only assumed that she was talkin' about Spot, "would be down on his knees for a girl. But he wanted Sunny, no matter what she said." Molly, Molly, Molly… swearin' like a sailor and talkin' just as crass. Always thought she was one of the fellas, I guess.

"Oh, really? What, Sunny didn't have a thing for Spot in the beginnin'?" I couldn't help myself. If I let Molly finish the conversation with the image of Spot Conlon on his knees, I'd never be able to fall asleep again.

I think Molly wasn't too sure that she should tell me but, thank God, she didn't shut up. Crackin' her knuckles absently, still close enough to me that I heard the snappin' sound and cringed, she continued, "It's not that, Skitts. Sunny liked him alright but… you know."

No, Molly, I don't. What the hell did you mean by that?

But, before I could ask her, she kept on goin'. And goin'.

Goddamn it, when do they breathe?

"Anyway, Sunny musta just had a change of heart after a bit, that or she realized that once you hit twenty, you're as old as fuckin' dirt, 'cause she finally took off with Spot one day. About three years ago, put in a notice to Harry and left." She shrugged her shoulders before shootin' me a smarmy grin and drapin' one of her hands on my shoulder. "I don't know, Skitts. It was different after Sunny left. I thought I'd be a shoe-in for the closer gig, since I'd been here longer than most of the other girls. Six years now… three years then, you know?"

I could smell the alcohol on her breath and couldn't help but think that Harry had made a good choice. I remembered Molly, she was startin' out when I was seein' Sunny and, well, she was a good dancer but yeah… the singin'… not so good.

"You know what, Skittery, I didn't get the job. Nope. Harry gave it to goddamn Sierra. Sierra, Skitts. You remember her? Rogue she calls herself, ha! She's about as Rogue as my fuckin' left foot."

Molly paused—thank God for that—but the quiet didn't last. She lifted that hard hand of hers and began to rub it up and down my neck, strokin' the damn thing as if it wasn't as dirty and stubble-covered as it was. She musta been drunker than I thought.

"That's enough about this place. How've you been? It's been so long." Then, as if didn't really care about what I had to say—which was good 'cause I wasn't plannin' on sayin' a word about me—but just needed a way to keep the damn conversation goin', she just kept on yackin' away. "Say, Skitts, you got a smoke I can bum off of you? I ran out and, wouldn't you know, Betty hasn't come back yet from her nightly visit with Paulie."

She winked then and I knew exactly what she was implyin' with the word 'visit'. Paulie and Betty. Big and Bigger. Can't ya just imagine the mugs on any runts she'd pop out? Yikes.

While I was imaginin' the funny lookin' brats that Paulie and Betty would make—if only 'cause I had nothin' better to do and focusin' on Molly as she got even closer wasn't an option—Molly just laughed. She was laughin', I don't know how or why, but Molly was laughin'. I was glad she found everything so damn funny. I guess it's easy when it ain't her life she's gossipin' about.

And, even though she was laughin', she was still able to talk. When was she gonna shut up? Without even waitin' for me to give her a cigarette or tell her I was fresh out, she kept on talkin'. "Good lord, I still can't believe it's you, Skitts. Seven years… and to think that I'd see you in the same place you last saw me. The same _fuckin' _room, too. An—"

Did she have to say that?

Shit.

Don't look over there, I told myself. I knew what I'd see if I looked over there—I'd known from that damn stain on the floor just where I was and the fuckin' memories were just waitin' for their chance to jump—and I knew exactly what memories would come rushin' back if it so much as crossed my eyesight. Don't look over at the damn door. Just listen to Molly go on and on and wait for Sunny, I said to myself. I knew that my newfound chance to lose Sunny was gone. My best bet was to just grab her and go and forget everything else for now.

Don't look over there.

I looked.

* * *

Author's Note: _Well, I'm back. Things were hectic again and I've been far away from the computer for almost two weeks now but I'm back. And, with that, I have a chapter and a half of Poison handwritten (here's the chapter, yay) plus some of Diabo that just have to be typed up. I'm excited. I'm also excited that I was able to mention two characters – Sierra (as donated by Rogue) and Molly (as donated by Kez). Thank you guys so much – and thank you to everyone who's been reading and/or reviewing so far. I planned this out entirely the other day at work and I'm confident in saying that it's going to be 13 chapters long. Not too bad, eh? Woot._


	7. And I thought I felt dirty before

Disclaimer: _This story features characters from Disney's 1992 musical, _Newsies. _I do no stake any claim to them and they are used for fictional purposes only. Any other character is either the property of this author or the creator of said character._

--

**Pick Your Poison**

--

I don't know what happened then. All I remember was thinkin' about what I'd seen behind that damn door all them years ago and I lost it. With Molly still talkin', I turned and started to head straight to the exit. I couldn't handle bein' in that hallway, that backroom… that place… no more.

Seven years or seven seconds, I couldn't take bein' near that room. Never again. And especially not with Sunny bein' there, too.

I think I might have heard Molly hollerin' after me, or Sunny or who the fuck knows but I couldn't stand it. As I hurried down the hallway and pushed past a very surprised lookin' Sierra—oh, 'scuse me, _Rogue_—I kept my eye on the exit. I reached it and with a shove, the door was open. And I was free.

The door stayed open behind me and, for a second, I didn't think anyone was gonna follow me out of it. The other performers didn't care all that much about me runnin' out and the gals I knew—Molly, Sierra, hell, I think I even made out ol' Rae Kelly back there, too—couldn't leave without Harry gettin' all mad at them. But then I heard it.

C_lack_C_lack_C_lack. _

Sunny.

She was runnin', too.

I wasn't surprised. I thought I'd heard someone hollerin' after me. Didn't mean that I was gonna wait for her, though. With a burst of speed that I hadn't seen since that time I tried to race Swifty down to the Distribution Center—and, yeah, I lost… bad… but I was pretty damn fast myself—I ran. I felt like a bum for doin' it but I had to.

"Skittery, wait. Why are you runnin', Skittery? Skittery!"

Damn her. She was yellin' for me, pleadin' with me, actin' like she didn't know why I was doin' what I was doin'.

I shouldn't stop, I told myself, and I was right. I shoulda kept on runnin', ya see. But then…

"Skitts? Wait for me. Benny…"

I stopped.

She stopped, too.

I could hear her pantin' but I didn't turn around. I may have stopped runnin' but I wasn't gonna turn around. After lookin' at that damn door I couldn't look at her 'cause, if I did, I wouldn't see her as Sunny now. I'd see her as how I left her. And I just couldn't handle that shit.

"Skittery, please. What's wrong? Why did you… why did you run?"

There was a pause.

I stared out into the darkness, knowin' full well that Sunny was behind me. But, hell, I still didn't turn.

Spot Conlon, I fuckin' hate you.

"Benny…"

I couldn't help it. I don't know if it was the way she said my name, or if it was the fact that she was sayin' it at all, but she caught my attention. Without even wantin' to, I turned around. And I saw her. I saw Sunny.

She was standin' there, a coupla feet behind me. Her arms was crossed over the top of her dress, hands clutchin' at her side. She was huggin' herself—at least, that was what it looked like to me, and her eyes were starin' down at the dirt. I could see one big hunk of her honey-colored hair fallin' in her face and I don't see Sunny Willows standin' there. Instead, she's fourteen-year-old Mary Willows again, scared and insecure, just as she always was when she wasn't barin' all in front of a crowd of sleazy men.

"Benny…" she started again, and that quiet voice, that voice that I still can't figure as belongin' to Sunny, was back. Plus, she used my fuckin' name… again. I couldn't help it. I took another step closer. Takin' heart in that, I guess, she continued talkin', "you ain't gonna leave me again, all alone, are you?"

Did she… she did, didn't she?

Hell.

It was—it was—it was _un_belie… no, it was more than that. It was… it was un-fuckin­-believable. Yeah. That's what it was, alright. Un-_fuckin_-believable.

Goddamn it. God_damn_ it!

I couldn't say a word, not one damn word. Strange… yeah, I know. Not one fuckin' word. I was speechless.

I wondered if that was how Sunny felt when I got her to shut up back on the Bridge. I doubted it.

My mouth was open and my gums was flappin' but I couldn't make a sound. Just to give my hands something to do I ruffled my hair, lookin' everywhere and anywhere, all over, but not at Sunny. Never at Sunny. I just couldn't look at her, if only because I knew exactly what I'd see. Even with her head down and her eyes purposely missin' mine, too, I couldn't look at her.

Shit.

Ya know, it ain't fair.

I turned a virgin kid into a whore of a woman and, I'll be damned, I think I just caused her to go back. I ain't too sure how I did it—that's a lie; runnin' out on her just now, that's what did it— but look at her. She ain't twenty-two no more but fourteen. She ain't Spot's dame but some fresh face kid down at the local burlesque joint.

Ah, hell. I ain't felt this guilty since that time I set Tumbler on Kelly's tail, just to make sure that he was busy enough so I could pay a quick visit to Davey's sister.

I'm an asshole. I know this. A rat bastard, a bum. But, shit, not even I'm as big of an asshole to leave an upset dame—even though she's Sunny and, shit, it's her fault—alone on a dark street, right outside of a place as cheap as Sunshine's.

I didn't want to do it. I _really _didn't want to do it. But I did it. I had to.

Fuckin' conscience. I swear. That was definitely not the time for that stupid thing to start actin' up again.

"Don't worry about it, Sunny. I…uh… Yeah. Forget about it. Just follow me, alright?"

She sniffled once—for good measure, I figure— before takin' a few short steps closer to me. I still wasn't lookin' at her but I could hear those damn heels. C_lack—_c_lack_—c_lack_. "Where we goin', Skittery?"

Didja hear that? Skittery again. I wonder what happened to Benny, eh?

"Come on. I'm headin' over to ol' Rose's on Bleekman St. We'll spend the night there and then head on over to Norfolk." I didn't call it Jack's place on purpose. I had a feelin' that, if I even said his name, I'd start runnin' again. "I—we'll go as soon as it's mornin'. I ain't about to bother him with all this so late. It ain't right."

I don't know if I was expectin' her to disagree or make some sort of comment that headin' over to a boarding house was something that Spot Conlon wouldn't like but, either way, she didn't. She didn't call me out on my lie, either, or try to talk me out of visitin' Jack. She didn't do nothing, really. Not dead away, at least.

Just as we started walkin' again, goin' purposefully in the direction of Madame Rose's, I felt it: that silky glove of hers was touchin' my arm again. Slowly, seductively, pawin' at my arm. Sunny was pettin' me.

I went all hard and soft at the same time, workin' real hard to keep my trap shut and my head on my shoulders. I let her fingers linger for only a second longer—it took that time to get my head straight—before yankin' my arm away and outta her reach. Then, not really too sure what I was doin', I hurried my ass away from her. I wasn't frightened of her, though. More like wary.

Yeah, I don't know how the hell I was plannin' on goin' to sleep that night.

--

To tell the truth, I ain't too sure how I got back to Bleekman Street without losin' it. With every damn step I took I imagined that Sunny was gonna catch up and try to start talkin' to me again—but she didn't. Smart girl. She musta seen the door, too.

That whole walkin' fast crap and lookin' over my shoulder every minute was hell for my insides. I never really recovered from my dash outside of Sunshine's and I was wheezin' as bad as Snoddy used to do when it was hot out and the New York City muck messed with us all.

The wheezes got worse and worser, what with the sticky, sweaty night air not really helpin', and, by the time we stepped onto the corner of Bleekman, I'd already had three coughin' fits. Each time I hacked away the fuckin' coughs racked my entire damn body. It hurt, too.

I could feel Sunny's curious gaze on the back of my old shirt but she didn't ask about the coughs or anything. In fact, she didn't say another word until I'd made it all the way over to the front of the boarding house and stopped, searchin' my shirt pocket for the key to my room.

I didn't have much but, hell, what I did have I didn't want bein' hocked for two pennies over on 25th, ya know?

"Skittery, is this it?"

I looked up from my searchin', the round part of the key restin' on my dirty pointer finger. "What? You were expectin' the Waldorf or somethin'?" I felt my eyebrow shoot up and my lip curled. It was bad enough that I was _stuck_ with Sunny. She didn't have to insult me, too.

I mean, I know Madame Rose's boarding house wasn't as swanky as Sunny was used to, bein' Spot Conlon's dame and all, but it wasn't that bad. A clean enough bed, a real flush toilet at the end of the hall… nope, couldn't complain.

"Well, no but—" Sunny didn't know what to say. That made me kinda happy, "—you know what? Never mind." She shook her head. I guess she was tryin' to figure out how to save her face or somethin', I don't know. "I didn't mean nothing by it, Skittery." She smiled then and waved her gloved hand towards the door. "Are we goin' in?"

Look at her, tryin' to be all nice and shit to me. She knew I was still stewin' over what happened back at Sunshine's and I was sure she was thinkin' on what had happened the last time I saw her there. She had to be. Why else would she have asked if I was goin' to leave her alone _again_?

I shook my head, too. Things were gettin' way too fuckin' complicated for me. I came here, came to New York, with one last thing left to do—one thing, damn it!—and now… yeah. I'm totin' around Sunny Willows on Spot Conlon's orders. Never woulda guessed that one.

I didn't understand it. I'd already proven that I remembered my way around the City, goin' from Brooklyn to Sunshine's and then from Sunshine's to Rose's on Bleekman, all without payin' any attention to where my feet were takin' me. Why, then, did I need Sunny to bring me to Jack's place on Norfolk when I sure as hell could find the way myself?

Decidin' I was gonna tell Sunny just that I looked over at her again. She was still smilin' but there was something about that smile. I don't know. It looked softer somehow. Invitin', almost. Warm.

I sighed. I couldn't do it. Even though I knew damn well that I was makin' things harder for me, harder for Sunny, I couldn't do it.

One more night. One more night, I promised myself, and then I'll send Sunny back to Spot, back to where she belongs. As much as I wanted to hurt her as much as she hurt me, make her know how goddamn shitty it feels to be turned out on your ass and forgotten, I couldn't do it…

I couldn't let Sunny Willows watch me die.

"C'mon," I said gruffly, suddenly, as I strode ahead and gripped the door handle of the boarding house front. "Let's go."

Sunny followed.

Quietly, too. Thank God.

--

The lock outside room 16 was rusted shut, stuck, and it took a bit of jimmyin' it with the big ass brass key to get it undone. I almost wished I had one of those fancy new bobby pins while workin' on it, it woulda been so much easier, I figured.

I won't lie, though. I was kinda anxious about gettin' the door open and invitin' Sunny into the room I'd been rentin' for the past few days, so anxious that my hand was sweatin'. It had only just popped into my head that this was Sunny—and I was lettin' her into a small, cramped room that had only one bed. I'm surprised my hand wasn't shakin'.

I heard the _click_ as the lock gave and I heaved my shoulder into the scratched up door, poppin' it open and watchin' it swing in until it hit the other side of the wall. Without even lookin' behind me I called back to Sunny, "In you get." I tried to sound as carefree as I possibly could but I don't know how well I played it off.

Shit.

It was easy to see that I wasn't plannin' to bring anyone back—especially a dame—to that room. It smelled like a mix of rotten meat and smelly feet and I kinda wished I'd thought to open the window before I headed out that mornin'. I had a too-tight, dingy gray union suit crumpled at the side of the small cot and I could see the spare shirt I'd brought and the holey trousers I had draped over the ol' wooden chair that came with the room.

I entered the room first and, with one quick shuffle of my boot, kicked my underclothes under the bed. Like I said before, that little bit of pride I had left was a stubborn bastard and it was holdin' on for dear life. The last thing I wanted to do right then was show Sunny my underclothes, ya know?

"It's… it's nice, Skitts."

Sunny, Sunny, Sunny… she can't lie for shit. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the hint of disgust as it crossed her face. Well, what was she expectin'? Honest pay ain't worth as much as Spot's… accounting, ya know. This was the best I could do.

"Yeah," I answered, purposely soundin' like a prick. I didn't want her to push it. All I wanted, really, was for her to just go to sleep already and leave me alone. It was gettin' harder and harder bein' around Sunny and I was beginnin' to understand that it wasn't 'cause I still wanted to hate her. I wanted to but, shit, I didn't think that the thoughts that were sneakin' across my head had anything to do with hatin' her.

Unless you can hate a girl when she's on her back in your bed—if that's true, then yeah…

Fuckin' Sunshine's. It brought it all back and, as much as I wanted to keep on hatin' her, it was gettin' rough.

She really did look good. Even standin' there, tryin' her damndest to come off as impressed at my modest surroundings, Sunny looked good.

I turned my wanderin' eyes down to the hard floor. "You, uh, you can take the bed. I'll sleep on the floor." Damn conscience. It thinks I should feel like a complete ass for covetin' Spot's dame so it's offerin' to make me as miserable as possible. Lovely.

She didn't answer me and I figured that she agreed with me. I mean, it was a pretty simple plan. There was really no arguin' with it—there was only one bed and I guess it was only right that I play the part of a gentleman. So, with a small shrug, I backed out of the door. "Listen, I'm gonna go take a leak real quick." I jerked my thumb over my shoulder. "There's a bathroom down the hall. I'll, uh, I'll be right back."

I didn't want to tell her what I was really doin'. I wanted to give her enough time to get herself all ready for bed and, if I was lucky, to fall asleep before I had to take up my place on the cold, hard floor. That way I could figure out just how I was gonna do what I had to do tomorrow and, 'cause I was still stuck on wishful thinkin', I guess, I wanted to find a way to get rid of Sunny.

The more I thought on it, the more I knew I couldn't—I just couldn't—bring her with me when I met up with Jack.

Damn it.

Maybe it was dumb of me, I don't know, to think that Sunny was gonna take the hint and all but I can say this: she sure as hell wasn't sleepin' when I finally came strollin' back into the room.

Her bein' still awake wasn't the first thing I noticed—the first thing I noticed was that the bed was still empty, which gave me the idea that Sunny wasn't sleepin' yet. My second thought was that she was gone, that she had left, but that idea was shot to hell when I heard her murmur my name.

Come to think of it, I ain't too sure why that empty bed was the first thing I saw, considerin' that Sunny was—I finally saw—standin' just off to the right, but that's what I was thinkin' about. Growin' up in the ol' lodging house on Duane I learned pretty early on to look out for my own ass and I guess my ignorin' Sunny for as long as I did was proof of that—instead of gawkin' at Sunny I was lookin' everywhere else first.

I couldn't keep my eyes off of her for long and I was pretty damn surprised when I finally looked her over. She was standin' there, yeah, wearin' a smile but not much else.

In the time I had wasted down the hall Sunny had stripped down to her chemise and, instead of climbin' into the bed, she was standin' there. Waitin'. She'd been waitin' for me to come back.

I let my peepers stay on her, takin' in her rack, her tiny waist and her long, thin legs before droppin' my gaze. Oh, how I wanted to just stop and leer at her like I'd done to Molly… but I couldn't. I don't know what the hell I was doin' or what she was doin' but I had to look down.

And I thought I'd felt like a dirty, old man _before_.

My fists were clenched at my side and, as Sunny continued to just stand there, waitin', I started to feel mad. Real fuckin' pissed.

I was pissed at me for lettin' Sunny get one over on me again, makin' me feel sorry for her only for her to go on and rub everything I don't have in my face. Even after all this time, one look at her and I fell apart. I was a sucker and it made me angry.

I was pissed at Sunny for doin' this to me. Like I said, she was actin' like a juicy steak and me—I was starvin'. She musta known that. She was a fuckin' tease and it made me even more angry.

I was pissed at Spot Conlon but, shit, after what his little joke had put me through that evening, that wasn't nothing new.

And, ya know what, I was pissed at Jack Kelly. If it hadn't have been for him, way back then, I never woulda been in this mess. I wouldn't be hidin' my eyes from Sunny, I'd be on top of her. She'd be mine, not Spot's.

Why the fuck was I apologizin' to Cowboy again? Bastard ought to be beggin' _my_ forgiv—wait. What the hell was I thinkin' about?

I sighed.

My fingers were turnin' white from the grip so I relaxed 'em. I didn't have the strength, I was tired and the night, I could tell, was far from over.

'Sides, ancient history that was. I shouldn't let it bother me no more—there was nothin' I could do about except for what I was plannin' on doin'.

I wouldn't let it bother me.

Tomorrow it would be all over. I'd never have to worry about Jack again, or Spot, or Sunny, even. If I was lucky, I'd be dead. If I was shit out of luck, I'd be back in Jersey. Either way, this would all be over and done with.

I just had to get through that night first…

"Sunny," I said then, and I was pretty damn proud at how calm I sounded, "why the hell are ya standin' there in your underwear?"

* * *

Author's Note: _Ooh, Sunny is a bad one. And things are only gonna get worse for poor Skitts. Ha._


	8. The smell of honey and warmth

Disclaimer: _This story features characters from Disney's 1992 musical, _Newsies. _I do no stake any claim to them and they are used for fictional purposes only. Any other character is either the property of this author or the creator of said character._

--

**Pick Your Poison**

--

I'll be damned, Sunny had the nerve to look surprised that I asked her that. I don't know, I guess she expected me to drop my trousers and jump on her but, hey, I'm a classy guy. That ain't how I do it. And, ya know, I woulda thought that she'd know that. C'mon… her underwear? What the hell?

She shrugged her shoulders, lettin' the thin material of her chemise fall up and down, lettin' her tits bounce with the motion. I think she did it on purpose, too. "What's the matter, Skittery? You don't like it?"

Well, hell, of course I liked it. Even if I was blind and lame—lamer than I already was—I'd like the way she looked. But that wasn't the point. The point was that she was _Spot_'s girl and she was standin' in front of _me_ in her fuckin' underwear.

And I'd thought that it was gonna be a long night _before_.

Shit.

I shook my head. "C'mon, Sunny. You get in the bed, I'll get on the floor, and we'll forget tonight already and just go to fuckin' sleep. I gotta be up early tomorrow, I don't have time for this shit." I didn't want to swear at Sunny but she was askin' for it. I mean, I'd always known she was a tease but that… that was just fucked up.

Oh, man. Was she poutin'? I think she started to pout. Her lips dropped and her eyes lowered and she took a small step towards me.

But, no. Wait. Sunny ain't poutin'.

She tilted her head to her side, lettin' her hair cover her shoulder, and I could see what her game was and I knew it. She was comin' on to me, that's what she was doin'. She ain't bein' a tease, she's bein' a whore.

"You don't have to sleep on the floor, Skitts."

I snorted. Like hell I don't.

Ya know, I wanted to give in, I wanted to do it more than anything, but I couldn't. So I did the next best thing. I tried pretendin' like her offer wasn't worth shit to me. "Well, whether I got to or not, I'm gonna. You sleep in the bed, I'm on the floor." I made my voice sound all tough and jerked my head at the bed. "C'mon, Sun, let's go. It's late."

I don't think she thought I'd be able to resist her. And, yeah, she looked good and all and, yeah, if it wasn't for the way things were, I'd be on her in a second… but I couldn't and I think Sunny was surprised.

To tell the truth, I was surprised, too. I'd just turned down a willing dame all because of the last bit of pride that was hangin' in there.

That's when she did it and I almost couldn't believe she'd have the nerve: Sunny Willows kissed me. It was a simple kiss, a tiny little thing, with her lips just barely brushin' against my dirty, scratchy cheek, but I could feel the heat of her breath and it made me shiver.

"Night, Skittery," she whispered, lowly and quietly, in a voice that I recognized. She'd just used her performer voice on me, the voice she used back when she worked down at Sunshine's and, look at me, I hadn't moved. Sunny shuffled back over to the bed, presentin' me with a nice shot of her ass, before sittin' down.

I didn't follow her. I wanted to—oh, did I want to—but I didn't.

And I thought I musta lost my mind back on the Brooklyn Bridge.

It went real quiet then, so quiet that I coulda sworn I heard the big Russian guy next door snorin' and I knew I needed to find somethin' to keep me busy. If I didn't, I knew for sure that I'd just give in already and hop naked into that bed with her. It was temptin', I tell ya. Real fuckin' tempting.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of my other trousers again, hangin' over the backside of that worn, scratched wooden chair. I'd stowed my cigarettes into the back pocket of those pants, I remembered, and, hell, if there was ever a time I needed a smoke… Yeah.

With a small turn of my head I saw that Sunny was sittin' on the bed, fiddlin' with the ends of the blanket. She was still wearin' her underwear and that was it and I wanted to holler at her to cover herself up already but, hey, I didn't think she'd listen so I just didn't bother. Instead, I turned my face straight, reachin' for my pants.

I could almost taste the damn cigarette and it tasted fuckin' _good_.

I gotta say, thought, it was kinda nice to see that her face had gone red. She shoulda known better than try to get me in the same bed as her. And to put her lips on me? What was she playin' at? Did she want Spot Conlon to come after me and kill me before Jack Kelly even got the chance? Shit. Crazy broad.

I drew the bent and dented faded bronze cigarette case—I nicked it off of Kloppman's desk so many years ago that I forget how long I've had it but it looks old enough, I tell ya—from my pocket before quickly undoin' the snap. There was only five cigarettes inside the case but I didn't think I'd need more. Then again, if I was with Sunny for much longer, I just might.

"Hey, um… Skittery?"

I didn't answer her right away. I was too busy strikin' a match against the side of my boot and usin' it to light the thickest of the cigarettes to bother with her. To be honest, I was still a bit pissed at the way that she'd come onto me like that. So what if she got ignored for a coupla minutes? She'd live.

One drag and then another passed before I felt calm enough to stay in the room with her. My hand wasn't shakin' no more and I didn't have the urge to jump on Sunny, either. I did, however, all of a sudden feel tired. I'd forgotten, what with the unexpected company of Sunny and the side trip to Sunshine's, how far I'd walked today. It seemed like ages ago when I'd seen Spot Conlon over at his place on Bridge Street, even if it'd only been a coupla hours. I was fuckin' exhausted.

My cigarette stickin' straight out of my mouth as I continued to puff on it, I took a seat on the dusty floor. I used one of my hands to wave at it, makin' it clean enough to lay down on, before goin' on ahead and layin' down. I'd seen worse, after all, and a little dust never killed no one.

I didn't take off my boots just yet or change my shirt or nothin' but I did take my second pair of pants and ball them up so that I could use 'em as a pillow. Then, only then when I was as comfortable as I expected to get, I answered her. Keepin' my eyes on the dirty, low ceiling above me, I finally said, "What?"

"You're not gonna, well, not gonna tell Spot about what… what just happened, are you?"

Now, why would I do that? Like I said, I didn't need Spot Conlon gunnin' after me. I had enough troubles already. Pissin' off a short mick with a temper didn't sound all that appetizin' just then.

"Nope."

"Really?"

She sounded surprised. I took one long, last drag off my cigarette before noddin' to myself. "Yeah. What, you think I'm gonna run off and snitch on ya?"

"No, of course not but…" She let her words just hang there before clearin' her throat. "I'm—I'm sorry, Skittery. I didn't mean to… to upset you, you know. Right?"

So that's what this is about now? She's regrettin' makin' that offer now and she wants to make sure that I don't rat her out to ol' Conlon. What do I look like? A scabber? Shit, Sun.

"It don't matter, Sunny," I told her, lettin' out that last lungful of smoke. My cigarette had burnt down to the ends but I wasn't ready to take get rid of it so, after makin' sure the tip wasn't still lit, I started to chew on it. It was as close to a supper as I was gonna get. "Just—just go to sleep. It's gonna be a, uh, a interestin' day tomorrow."

I could tell from the quiet that she didn't think too much of my suggestion and was pretty damn sure that tomorrow would be more interestin' than she'd like but she didn't do anything but sigh. Then, "Skitts?"

"Yeah?"

From my spot on the floor I could see Sunny, the blanket held up to her chin as if she was tryin' to hang onto the little bit of decency she had left. She was on her side, starin' down at me, a sad look on her pretty face. Half-hidden behind a veil of blonde curls, Sunny shook her head. "Whatever happened to you?"

My mouth opened but I didn't say nothin' straight away. I wasn't sure if I should rise to her bait or just let it go. It was late enough as it was and, yeah, I did want to get some sort of rest before facin' Jack… if I answered her with a lie, she'd know. So I didn't lie—I told the goddamn truth and I did it with a voice as final as I could make it, considerin' the stub of the cigarette I was still holdin' onto. Simple as that, I gave her as short an answer as I could:

"You did."

I rolled over onto my side then, not lookin' at Sunny, not lettin' her see the small curve of my smile. That felt _good_.

Thanks for givin' me the chance to repay you on that debt of mine, Sun. Hell, let someone else feel like a fool for once.

--

Fallin' asleep and stayin' that way wasn't as hard as I thought it would be, but it was still a bit rough. The floor was hard and there was still some dust on it that I hadn't gotten rid of before. That fuckin' dust ended up in my mouth and I was hackin' for that first hour. I had no idea how Sunny was able to sleep through it.

I was too used to the damn coughs so it didn't bother me too much. I banged my chest a couple of times, loosenin' all the shit inside up, before the breath came easier and I could fall asleep. From then until I woke up for good the next morning, I only remembered three more fits.

Not too, bad, really. They were just getting' more painful, that's all. I'd survive.

Oh, wait. No. I wouldn't.

Shit.

Anyway—

It was well past sun-up when I finally decided to open my eyes. My back was feelin' pretty stiff and I'd lost my trousers/pillow sometime durin' the night so the back of my head was pressed against the floor. I didn't really want to get up because gettin' up meant havin' to finally finish this thing and goin' to see Cowboy but I didn't want to stay on the floor no more, either.

I got up.

Stretchin' my arms over my head before scratchin' myself good, I looked over at the bed—the empty bed. My head swiveled around but it was no use. Sunny was gone and I was fuckin' alone. Finally.

There was a touch of toughness to my chest that had nothin' to do with my goddamn cough as I reached for my boots and pulled them on my feet. I didn't bother doin' up the laces just yet, instead sittin' down on the bed that Sunny had been sleepin' in. The sheets were still rumpled up and all but they was cold. Sunny had been gone for a while.

I couldn't believe she'd had the nerve to leave me alone. I guess she was still feelin' silly for comin' on to me the night before so she had to leave. I mean, I didn't really care but, hell, couldn't she have said goodbye or something?

The dented cigarette case caught the morning sun and the ray damn near blinded me. I used the inside of my foot to kick the old case over to me and out of the sunlight. Reachin' over, I grabbed the thing and snapped it open. I was down to four cigarettes now and, as I picked out the stumpy one on the right hand side, the count went down to three.

But that was alright. I needed that smoke.

Still sittin' on Sunny's bed, I leaned back so I could search my pants for the box of matches I knew I'd stowed in there. It took me a couple of seconds—I started to mumble swear words to myself—to find the fuckin' box but I finally did. It was squashed from where I slept on it but I barely noticed it. I just reached my dirty fingers in and grabbed a single match.

I was just about to strike the match against the hard floor when I heard that stuck door handle shake and rattle. I didn't pay no attention to it, figurin' that the big fat Russian man had just mistaked my room for his again.

That's when the door finally gave and it came flyin' open, followed by a quick C_lack_C_lack_C_lack_ as the dumbass who was on the other side wasn't prepared for the door to swing in on them.

I knew that C_lack_C_lack_C_lack_.

Ah, hell.

As if on their own, my eyes turned from the cigarette that had been danglin' off my lip up to the person standin' in the doorway. I was right, too.

Sunny Willows, a fresh coat of lipstick on her lips and her stupid stupid curls all done up, clean and fresh. And, shit, does she smell _good_. Like honey and warmth and everything else that I've learned to hate over time. But it still smells so damn good.

She's smilin' at me, leanin' up against the door, one hand on the handle, the other holdin' a grubby brown bag. I took another sniff, tryin' to get past the smell that was just so Sunny, and my stomach grumbled.

Here I was, thinkin' that she'd just run off on me and she went out and brought me food. I am such a bum.

My unlit cigarette fell from my lip and I shut my eyes, as if Sunny would just go away and leave me the fuck alone.

This ain't fair. Seven years I worked to just forget and in one day—one day!—it all comes back and I'm seventeen again, with a ring in my pocket and dreams of growin' up with a whore.

Why the hell do I have to still love that girl?

* * *

Author's Note: _Well, here's the next chapter. After this there's only five more to go. And I actually wrote most of the last chapter at work yesterday so that I have some kind of set goal in mind for this story. I'm excited :)_


	9. Mush and his little rat pal

Disclaimer: _This story features characters from Disney's 1992 musical, _Newsies. _I do no stake any claim to them and they are used for fictional purposes only. Any other character is either the property of this author or the creator of said character._

--

**Pick Your Poison**

--

_So, with my hair combed—thank you, Racetrack—and those scraggly flowers—and you, Tumbler—in my hand, I told those two guys goodnight and left the bunkroom. I could already hear Race startin' up on the poor kid, askin' where I was goin' and what the hell did a mook like me need flowers for._

_It made me smile, it did, Race badgerin' Tumbler like that. I knew the kid wouldn't tell Race shit and for two damn good reasons, too._

_One was simple enough: Tumbler didn't really know where I was goin' or what the hell I needed flowers for. Sunny, I made sure of it, was a closely guarded secret and I wanted her to stay that way until I didn't have to worry about one of the other fellas goin' after her._

_And, yeah, Tumbler was a smart kid. He paid attention when he could, listenin' when he thought I didn't know he was there and askin' some questions when he got caught. Kid looked up to me, I guess, and liked to hear any story I'd tell him, believin' me whether I was fibbin' or tellin' it straight. And, because of all that, he knew more about me and my business than the other guys did but that was alright. Tumbler was a kid, after all, not much more than nine. What could he do?_

_'Sides, that's why I made sure Tumbler's got two reasons to keep his trap shut. Before I got him to run out and get me those flowers I gave him the biggest sucker they had down at the candy shop. I figured that three pennies were worth it, you know?_

_And Race liked to call me dumb. I got brains, you know. Use 'em sometimes, too._

_--_

_Shit, I was nervous. A lot more nervous than I thought I'd be, I admit. I musta checked those damn pockets of mine a hundred times between the bunkroom and the door of the lodging house. I could just imagine what would happen if lost the thing—whichever lucky bastard who found it would be eatin' like a king for a week. Or shut up in the Refuge for stealin'…_

_It wasn't that big of a ring and, hell, it wasn't even that shiny, but it was mine. I paid for it, fair and square. So there._

_There's a kid I know, Patrick. Used to live over on 51st street with his ma before he ran off on her, but only his ma ever called him Patrick—everybody else called him Quick Rick. Ya know, droppin' off the Pat part and callin' him Quick instead._

_Now, Quick Rick was quick alright, real fuckin' speedy. His mouth never stopped goin' and his feet were nearly as fast as Swifty's were. But, I tell ya, his mouth and his feet don't got nothin' on his fingers. Really._

_You could be holdin' a penny tight in your fist, as tight as you can, and only stop payin' attention long enough to spit and scratch your nuts with your free hand but, if the stinkin' piece of copper was gone when you looked back, you'd just been had by Quick Rick._

_That fuckin' fast._

_I don't trust Quick Rick as far as I could throw him—never have, not when we was kids, never will, not now that we're grown—but, shit, he's one hell of a fella to go to when you're in a bind._

_Me, I needed a ring for cheap. Quick Rick found me a ring for cheap. No questions asked, I gave him as much as he wanted and now, now I had a ring. I just hoped Sunny'd like it._

_It was small and kinda dented, like its previous owner hadn't taken too good of care of it. Gold, I think, with a tiny little rock sittin' in the middle. If you held it up just right in the sunlight, it sparkled. I know. I did it all morning, waitin' until it was time to return to the lodging house._

_All in all, it was a good ring. Worth every penny I gave Quick Rick and, hell, it ain't like _I_ stole it. _

_With my hands shoved roughly in my pockets, I checked for the millionth and one time to make sure that I hadn't lost the damn thing yet. I felt the cool metal as it knocked into my palm. Good, I thought, it's still there. Then, noddin' to myself, skittish and nervous and excited, too, I finally headed on out of the lodging house._

_Because I was feelin' skittish and nervous and, yeah, excited, I was bein' more careful than usual—and that's sayin' something. I decided it would be the smartest thing to leave out the back door instead of the front. It was gettin' pretty late and, yeah it was Friday night, so I was expectin' to meet up with some of the other fellas if I went out front. And, I tell ya, I didn't want that._

_"Hey, Skittery.__ Nice night out, wouldn't you say?"_

_Well, I'll be damned. I fuckin' sneak out the back and I _still _run__ into one of the guys._

_Shit._

_His back was to me and he was alone outside but he knew it was me anyway. If anybody else woulda pulled that kinda mind readin' shit on me, I'd have been freaked the fuck out but it was just Mush. He was a weird kid sometimes, big and strong-lookin' but really just as gentle as a pussycat. Us newsies knew Mush and just played along—maybe he was weird and all but he was a harmless._

_Out of nerves, I guess, I checked my pocket again. The ring was still there. Good._

_I lifted my head up in a greetin', sayin' hello to the curly-haired boy sittin' on the dirt ground at my feet. "Whatcha doin', Mush."_

_It wasn't really a question cause, really, I didn't give a shit—all I wanted to do was get my ass over to Sunshine's and see Sunny—but I couldn't leave without sayin' nothin' to Mush. It'd upset him and that's a really bummy thing to do, upsettin' Mush._

_He turned around then and I could see he was smilin' at me. Mush has got one hell of a smile, all wide with his too clean teeth showin'. And it's a smile that ain't like some of the others._

_When Jack Kelly smiled it usually meant he was about to unload a whole bunch of bullshit onto you. With Race, you knew he was itchin' to get his paws on your dough. But Mush… it was different. Innocent, I guess. Though how a street rat can keep innocent like that is something I don't get. I'm just lucky I know what the damn word means, ya know?_

_Anyway, he smiled at me and shrugged. "Nothin'."_

_Of course.__ Nothin'. "Yeah, well, it's too cold out here to be doin' nothin'," I told him. I'd only just stepped outside and I was close to shiverin' but not Mush—he was all calm, like he don't even know it's winter out. Weird kid._

_He didn't hear me or maybe he did and didn't care. "Hey, Skittery, you want to see somethin'?"_

_I felt the weight of the ring in my pocket and knew I didn't have time for seein' nothing but, after all, it was Mush. What could I do? "Sure."_

_Without another word, Mush reached into the front pocket of his shirt and pulled out a piece of bread he musta saved from the nuns. He ripped off a bit of it, shoved the rest back in his pocket and tossed the bread a few feet away from where he was sitting._

_I waited a second, wonderin' if that was what he wanted me to see cause, I tell ya, there was nothing else beside dirt and slush and mud and rocks and that bread. I told him so. "Hey, uh, Mush? I've seen that before. It's called food."_

_He didn't do nothing but shake his head and point at the bread. I guess he wanted me to look harder at it, so I did. While I was doin' that, I cleared my throat and stomped my feet so that the cold didn't creep in through my boots and make my toes fall off. Heard about a kid over in Brooklyn that happened to—they called him Stubby after that._

_Mush turned his head to look at me. His wide eyes made me feel all guilty. His big smile didn't help. "Ya gotta hush, Skitts, and ya gotta wait."_

_Yeah, so there I was with Mush, hushin' and waitin' and wishin' I'd just taken the front door instead of goin' out the back—I'd sure as hell be halfway down to Sunshine's if I had—when it happened. _

_I don't know where the little shit came from but there it was. A fuckin' rat. _

_It had beady little eyes, fur the color of the muddy slush it seemed to have crawled out of and the tail—that tail was ugly. And bald._

_I wanted to take off my boot and throw it at the thing, kill it, whatever, but Mush stopped me. I don't know how the hell he knew I wanted to get rid of that rat—but, I mean, who the fuck likes rats?—but he held his hand up, freezin' me faster than the damn cold. _

_"Watch."_

_The rat was brave, I'll give it that. Or maybe it was stupid. I don't know, I kinda think it was hungry most of all 'cause, as if me and Mush weren't watchin' it do it, the rat scurried out towards the soggy bread. It stopped, its stupid pink nose twitchin' like crazy, before it snatched the bread. Then it was gone. Just like that._

_I was glad, too. Dirty rat coulda given me the plague or shit. That's what Davey Jacobs told me—rats killed half the world once. _

_No, thanks._

_Dyin__' of the plague that some fuckin' rat gave me ain't the way I planned on goin'._

_But Mush, Mush seemed proud of that damn rat. As the thing ran off, perfectly good bread in its mouth, Mush seemed amazed. He pointed at it as it ran away. "Did you see that?"_

_I didn't know what was so excitin' about a rat makin' off with bread. If Mush wasn't hungry, ya know, I woulda eaten it. Hell._

_But I couldn't say that, not to Mush, so I nodded. "Yeah, Mush, I saw it."_

_His chest puffed up, proud, like he was the one who had gotten the food. Mush jerked his head in the direction the rat had went—I could see the end of its ugly, bald tail as it disappeared into the darkness and I was _glad_—before pointing to his own nose._

_"Rats," he said, soundin' way too damn excited to be talkin' about rats, "they smell real good."_

_Now, if it was anybody else, I'd have had a smart ass comment for that. I knew that rats sure as hell _don't_ smell good. They smell like shit. Everybody knows that. But it was Mush who said it and I figured that ain't really what he meant._

_"Good sense of smell, right?" I asked, cold but no so cold that I couldn't manage a small smirk._

_Mush nodded, not even aware that I'd taken a shot at him. "Right."_

_It was quiet for a second, Mush smilin' and me feelin' just a bit guilty again for bein' mean to Mush. I shook my head and stomped my frozen feet again. "Thanks, Mush. That's good to know, I'll have to remember that."_

_He didn't say anything. I kinda thought that he was sittin' there, waitin' for his little rat pal to come back. Told ya, weird kid and all, but didn't mean his likin' vermin meant he had to die. I don't know what was wrong with him but if I left him there, he'd fuckin' freeze to death._

_"Hey, Mush?"_

_"Yeah, Skitts?"_

_His voice had that soft sound to it, like he was thinkin' and I'd made him stop. Feelin' even more guilty, I said, "Don't stay out too long. It's fuckin' cold."_

_Mush blinked once before lookin' over his shoulder. I would bet against Race's five to one odds that just then Mush was only noticin' how cold it was. He slowly turned his head back. "Thank."_

_"Don't mention it."_

_And then, before Mush could show me some other crazy shit, I started to head off. It was gettin' late and I had a girl to see. I couldn't spend the rest of my night—the most important night of my miserable life, if everything went right—feedin' rats and freezin' my ass off._

_He stopped me at the end of the block. A simple "Hey," called after me and I spun around. I think I was ready to just tell Mush to get lost but then I saw that smile and I stopped._

_"Good luck," he said. "Good luck, Skittery."_

_Well, how the hell did he know?_

_Mush…_

_--_

_It was damn cold out, I couldn't help but think that as I made my way to Sunshine's. Snow had been fallin' on and off for far too long now and there was such a fuckin' chill to the air that my bones were shakin', I swear._

_But, hey, that's January for ya. And anyone who'd have thought that it wouldn't freeze ya just cause it was a new century was a fool. Winter is winter, cold is cold, and there ain't nothin' nobody can do about that. Just light up a smoke, stick your hands in your pockets, keep your head down and your feet movin'. If you do that, you won't end up like Stubby._

_So, with a cigarette clamped between clatterin' teeth, my hands in my pockets—the ring was still there and I had the flowers shoved in the other pocket, my hands were that numb—my head down and my feet hurryin' down the street, I kept on makin' my way down to Sunshine's._

_You know, I betcha coulda blindfolded me and stuck me on any corner in the Lower East Side and I'd be able to find my way over to Sunshine's. Hell, I'm surprised there ain't a path already from the lodging house to the burlesque joint. I mean, my boots sure walked that way enough for there to be one._

_Not for much longer, though, I told myself as I puffed on another cigarette, tryin' to fight off the fuckin' cold, not if I have my way. If Sunny accepted my ring from me, I was gonna marry her and get her out of that place. I'd work hard enough for the both of us if I had to—she was never gettin' on that stage again and I was never headin' down back alleyways to get there to see her._

_That thought warmed me up some and, before I knew it, I was starin' at Sunshine's back entrance. I kept the ring in the one pocket while takin' the flowers outta the other. I patted down my hair, hopin' it looked as good as it did after I ran Race's comb through it, and tossed the ends of my latest cigarette to the ground. It sizzled against the snow until the slush snuffed it out. _

_I was ready._

_I'd been usin' the back entrance for a coupla weeks now so I didn't have no trouble openin' it up and slippin' on in. There were two big guys hangin' around in the back and I nodded at them. I knew their faces but not their names but it didn't really matter. Their job was to make sure no one got in to hurt none of the girls and, well, I didn't look like trouble to them. 'Sides, they'd seen me before._

_There was always a handful of girls runnin' around the back hallways of Sunshine's, gettin' ready for their set or something. I knew most of them by now, after a year of visitin' Sunny I'd met almost all of her girlfriends, and as one girl passed, I grabbed her arm._

_She was an average-sized girl with this frizzy, almost curly brown hair. Kinda tall but nowhere near as tall as me, I have to say. She stopped as soon as I had my free hand on her, whippin' her head around so that she could see who was handlin' her. She had these real blue eyes that were narrowed on me but they softened as soon as she looked up at me._

_"Skittery. It's you. Jeez, you're hands are cold," she said, jerkin' her hand out of my grasp. She was grinnin' though, and she didn't move away from me. "How are ya?"_

_I gave a sheepish grin, I'd forgotten how cold I'd been once I stepped inside the warm back hallway, and held up my hand that was holdin' the wiltin' flowers. "I'm good, Sierra. I'm lookin' for Sunny, you seen her?"_

_Sierra had this knowin' look in her eye but, for once, didn't offer any kinda comment. She just nodded. "Yeah. Harry had her go on a little early tonight. She said she was feelin' under the weather so he told her to finish her act and find a room to lie down in." She pointed down the ways. "She'll be back there."_

_"Thanks."_

_I didn't say nothin' else to Sierra cause I was worried about Sunny. Last time I'd seen her—a coupla days ago, I'd been workin' up the nerve to ask her to marry me—she hadn't been sick. What the hell was wrong with her?_

_There wasn't really that far to go to make it down the hallway where the rooms were but there was enough people runnin' around back there that it was a coupla minutes before I was standin' outside of the first door. I almost fell against it—some blonde girl, probably ol' Molly O'Mahoney, came runnin' past and I stumbled—and my eyes looked downward._

_There was light flickerin' out from under the door and it lit up a patch on the floor. Even though I was worried about Sunny, I couldn't help but stare at it. There was a patch, a dark patch, on the floor. A stain, I figured, but one that looked like it was from blood. And, if that wasn't creepy enough, if ya started at the stain enough, it almost looked like it was shaped like a heart._

_I shook my head. I guess I had too much love on my mind if I was seein' blood-red hearts outta stains. Shit._

_The door was on the left-hand side of the hallway and, since it was the first, I thought I'd try that one._

_One last time I checked to make sure that the ring was in my pocket. The metal was still very cold to the touch but I knew it was there. Good._

_I opened the door, thrustin' the flowers in front of me. I wanted Sunny to see them—I wanted her to remember this night exactly. "Su—"_

_That was all I could get out before my mouth just shut. I had no words for that shit._

_There was Sunny—her honey-colored hair hangin' down a bare back—sittin' right atop a fella that wasn't me. Their faces were hidden to me but that's alright. I didn't want to see their faces, I didn't want to know who I was watchin' fuck Sunny._

_I couldn't keep my eyes on them so I looked down. That's when I saw it, I saw the cowboy hat lyin' on the floor. Next to it, a knotted up red bandana and a pair of old trousers. Right then I didn't even need to see the pretty boy face of the goddamn bastard who was lyin' under Sunny—my Sunny—to know who it was._

_It hit me, like a punch to my gut. Jack Kelly, the great Cowboy, was fuckin' Sunny and Sunny—my fuckin' Sunny, the two-bit whore I'd wanted nothin' more than to marry seconds ago—she was lettin' him._

_Shitshitshitshitshit_

_I didn't know what to do so I let my instincts take over. First thing, my hand slammed that door shut so fast and so loud that I wouldn't have been surprised if Sunny tumbled right out of that fuckin' bed._

_Next, I ran. Later on the only thing I remembered about runnin' through the back halls of Sunshine's was that damn spot on the floor. I shoulda spat on it._

_I musta run into other people back there but, if I did, I just ran past them or, hell, right through them. I didn't care and I sure didn't apologize, neither. I wasn't sorry, but Sunny would be. And Jack. He'd be fuckin' _sorry

_I only stopped runnin' when the cold air hit me dead in the face. I was pantin', barely able to breathe, and the cold didn't do nothin' to cool the heat of my anger._

_Sunny… and Jack._

_How the fuck did that happen?_

_I didn't know and, shit, I didn't want to know._

_But there was one thing I did know. Sunny was never gonna be my wife._

_I dropped the damn ring in a pile of dirty slush right outside of that fuckin' whorehouse. And then _I _was gone._


	10. 177 Norfolk Street, Manhattan

Disclaimer: _This story features characters from Disney's 1992 musical, _Newsies. _I do no stake any claim to them and they are used for fictional purposes only. Any other character is either the property of this author or the creator of said character._

--

**Pick Your Poison **

--

She was still standin' in the door, waitin' for me to say something to her… to do something, even.

So I did.

Before I did another thing just then, I bent down and scooped my cigarette up. When there's only a coupla more left in the cigarette case, you don't go lettin' one fall like that. I was lucky that one of the damn roaches in this joint didn't run off with the thing.

I wanted to show Sunny that I could be just as classy as her if I wanted to so, before I stuck the cigarette back between my lips, I rubbed any dirt off of the rollin' paper. Yeah, a coupla bits of the loose shag fell out of the hand rolled piece but I didn't care. Classy people don't care about shit like that.

"Hey, uh, Skitts?"

Oh, great. She's lookin' at me with those doe eyes she got, all soft and innocent and sweet and carin'. Ugh. It was too early in the morning for that.

"What?"

She musta known I was in a mood. I didn't even offer her a 'good mornin'' or nothin' like that. Just a quick and to the point 'what'—that's all I had for her.

You know, I don't know if she really minded that I snapped at her. I mean, I've never really been much of a mornin' person, I know that, and, I think, she knows that too. I guess it really wasn't a surprise, especially after havin' a night like that when I had to sleep on the hard floor with a pair of pants as a pillow, that I wasn't all flowers and sunshine for her.

"I brought you some breakfast," she announced, holdin' up that bag that she had in her hand. Then, because I guess she realized that she was standin' in the doorway still, she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her, explainin' herself as she went. "I got up early this morning and I remembered that we never ate supper last night so I thought I would freshen up and get some food." She nodded her head at me. "I see you're gettin' dressed, hm?"

I looked down at my half-laced boots and my wrinkled, dusty shirt. It was the same one I'd worn the whole day before but, even though I took my boots off to sleep, I never bothered to change before fallin' to sleep. It hadn't seemed worth it last night and, now, it was one last thing I had to do before headin' on out.

"Yup," I answered, cause I didn't really know what else to say. I was still sittin' on the bed that Sunny'd slept in and, since I was still sittin' there, that's where Sunny walked over to. She didn't take a seat next to me; she just put the bag of food down on the bed.

"Here, Skitts. Eat up."

My stomach was still grumblin' and all but I didn't want to take it from her. I still had my pride and my pride was tellin' me it'd rather starve than take something off of Sunny Willows.

Shakin' my head and tryin' to get back on my feet, I told her, "That's alright. C'mon, we got to get movin'."

I don't know how she did. I mean, I know I'm sick, and I know I'm dyin', but I didn't think I was _that_ weak. Maybe I was lettin' her do it, I don't know. All I _do _know is that Sunny had her hands on my shoulders and I was still sittin' on that bed—she wasn't lettin' me up.

Shakin' those pretty perfect curls of hers, she said, "I don't think Jack Kelly's goin' anywhere in the next few minutes, Skittery. And I'm not lettin' you go anywhere until you eat up. You look like death."

I coulda taken her. I coulda just pushed her aside and stormed out of that room if I wanted to. But I didn't. It was kinda nice, havin' her fuss over me like that, even if she didn't mean it. Even if she didn't realize just how close to the truth she was.

And, you know what, she was right, anyway. I didn't really want to die on an empty stomach.

--

177 Norfolk Street.

I looked up at the building and shook my head. I don't know what I was thinkin' about before but, when me and Sunny finally left ol' Rose's on Bleekman and finally found our way over to 177 Norfolk Street, we was standin' right in front of a building that looked like any of the damn apartment building's in the city. It was nothing special. Just a building.

And that's when it came to me.

Spot Conlon said that Jack Kelly lived at 177 Norfolk Street, right off of Stanton. Yeah, well, there was Stanton that we just turned off of, and here's 177 Norfolk Street, but I didn't see no Jack Kelly. And ya know why?

Cause I didn't have the room number. I had no idea which one of the hundreds of the damn, cramped apartments I was lookin' up at belonged to the bastard.

Shit.

Frustrated, I took the ends of the last of my cigarettes out of my mouth and tossed it to the dirt ground. Then, with a stamp of my foot that was much harder than it normally takes to put out a smoke, I threw up my hands in the air. "How the hell am I supposed to find him _now_?" I said out loud, talkin' more to hear myself talk than because I thought anyone'd be able to answer me.

I was surprised, though. Someone _did _answer me.

"Don't worry about it, Skittery. He's in the fourth apartment on the sixth floor. 6D."

Almost as if on its own, my head swiveled over to look at Sunny. She was wearin' a helpful smile, as if she was all proud of offerin' up that information.

But I didn't care about that. I wanted to know how the fuckin' hell she knew where Jack Kelly lived.

"How'd you know that?"

She lowered her gaze innocently but, when I squatted down so that I could see her face, there was a mischievous glint in those hazel eyes. She'd done something—I knew that—but I didn't know what.

Pretty damned pissed off, I stood up and stamped my foot against the dirt. "How'd you know that, Sunny?" I repeated, louder this time, gruffer. I didn't have to put up with this shit. Not now. Is that why she tagged along? Anxious to reacquaint herself with Cowboy, is she?

I guess she could tell that I was annoyed. Anyway, she was a smart girl—she decided not to play around with me askin' her a question like that. She lifted her eyes and, stickin' her chin out in a way that dared me to tell her off for it, she said, "I took a peek in Spot's book before I gave it to him, Skittery. I wanted to make sure he gave you the right address."

"Oh." You know, I gotta admit that I was a bit impressed with that. I don't think I'd ever have the nerve to nose my way through something that belonged to Spot Conlon. I didn't tell her that, though, and I sure didn't tell her that I was expectin' that she'd been to this place before. I didn't even feel like a bummer for accusin' her, even if I didn't really. I was too busy tryin' to work something else out. "So the apartment number was listed under Cowboy's name?"

Sunny nodded. "Yeah, Skitts. Right under Kelly, it said 177 Norfolk Street, apt 6D. I made sure to remember," she added, her voice a bit quieter then. Almost sounded like she was proud of herself but wasn't sure if she should be.

"Then why the hell did he just tell me the street number but not the apartment? Did he just forg—oh. I get it." I stopped right there, feelin' like a total fool. I could just imagine the goddamn grin on Spot's fuckin' face. He musta been laughin' it up over at his… accounting firm, knowin' that I could find the building but I'd never actually meet up with Jack.

He was fuckin' with me, had been ever since I first walked into his damn office.

And, to make it worse, it woulda worked, too—except for one thing.

_Sunny… _

I coulda thanked her, you know, and I really shoulda. I coulda said that I appreciated her help and all… but I didn't. Still sore from discoverin' what Spot Conlon was tryin' to pull, I didn't say nothin' nice to her at all.

I just shook my head. "If you're comin' with me, let's go already."

I didn't need her to say anything to me. The sound of her C_lack_C_lack_C_lack_'s as we entered the apartment building and started up the steps was enough of an answer.

It didn't take long to climb up the five flights of stairs it took to get to Jack's floor. To be honest, I kinda wished it woulda lasted a bit longer. It was nice, in a way, to have Sunny followin' only a step behind, quiet and all, but still followin' me up. Maybe it was because I knew what was in front of me, I didn't want the steps to end.

But they did. Of course they did. And, as soon as we made it to the sixth floor, I spun around.

I pointed my finger at her and, in a voice that I tried hard to make sound like Kloppman did when he found out his cigarette case had been nicked, I said, "You stay here, alright? Don't move from this spot."

There was nothing for it. Sunny was there, at 177 Norfolk Street ( apt 6D, no thanks to Spot), and there was nothin' I could do about it. She was here—but that didn't mean I wanted her by my side when I saw Jack.

She nodded, too. No arguments, no questions. I guess she knew better.

Good.

Ya know, maybe it was a good thing that Spot Conlon hoisted ol' Sunny on me, that I couldn't shake her no matter what I did. 'Cause, I'll tell ya, I ain't too sure I'd have found the nerve to walk up to that damn door if she wasn't there, watchin' me go.

But she _was _watchin' me go and I wasn't about to turn yellow now. Not after I'd made it this far.

I took a deep breath, ignorin' the way I could feel her eyes on my back and formed a fist. And I knocked, makin' sure to hit the wood right below the big 6D that was tacked to the door. Then I knocked again. Just in case.

Exhalin', I waited to see if I could hear someone comin'. Maybe I'd get lucky and no one would be there. Cause, you know, I tried, right? Didn't matter if I saw Jack or not, cause I tried…

Wait.

Someone was there. I could hear them turnin' the knob. The door was openin'.

In a second or two I was gonna see Jack Kelly again. And I had no idea what was gonna happen after that.

I don't know, I musta turned yellow just then after all or something cause, when I heard that door opened, I looked down at the ground. I didn't want to look Jack right in the eye, I guess. I don't really know why—no, that's a lie, I _do _know why—but I couldn't keep my eyes off of the floor. "Jack, he—"

"I'm sorry, are you looking for my husband?"

Now, it might have been seven years and all since I last seen Cowboy but, hell, I know he don't got a voice like that. That was a lady's voice. A woman had opened his door—and I knew that voice, too.

I looked up, my head shootin' upward as if it was attached to a string that had just been pulled. There, peeking her head out of a barely opened door, was a girl—a _woman_ I'd never thought I'd see again. Yeah, her long, brown hair was pulled back into a neat little bun instead of hanging loosely around her shoulders, and she's gotten a bit older and just a bit plumper, but, hell, I'd know that face anywhere.

"Sarah? Sarah Jacobs, that you? God da—" I shook my head, not even finishin' that thought, "—it's me, Ski—"

"Skittery, yes," she said, cuttin' me off. "I remember you. You've… changed."

And then she smiled, that prim little smile that I seen on any and all of the wives of the guys I worked with down at the factory. It was a tiny thing, one that showed me just what she thought: that it was such a pity, a damn shame what the world did to me. She felt sorry for me, she did, but there was nothin' she could do about it so she was just gonna smile and pretend she don't feel bad for me. Makes it easy for her to sleep at night, I guess.

Or maybe she was just tryin' to forget how I looked the last time we met. I know I sure can't. Seven years ago I stood face to face with Sarah, watching those dark brown eyes of her tear up and feelin' pretty damn proud of myself that I was makin' a girl—she couldn't have been more than sixteen then—cry. She was cryin' and I was glad… but she ain't cryin' now. She's smilin'.

And that ain't all.

Damn it. Sarah Jacobs—nah, that ain't right, is it? Husband she said, so Sarah _Kelly_—looks good. Almost like these past few years didn't even touch her, she's standin' there, lookin' good.

Spot looks good, Sunny looks good, _Sarah _looks good… and there I am, a complete bummer.

Shit.

She blinked at me and cleared her throat with that quick and quiet _hem hem _ladies got and I realize that I've been starin' at her. Me, caught starin' at Jack Kelly's dame—ain't that something?

I can feel my face screwin' up in one of those yeah-you-caught-me-and-no-I-don't-care faces. As far as I can tell, Sunny don't know what's been goin' on over at the door and, suddenly, I don't want her to know that I got caught lookin' over Sarah.

It's funny, but I think Sarah kinda knew that. She didn't say nothin' straight away, she just kinda stood there, still wearin' that damn smile.

And then, just when I was get tired of her lookin' back at me like that, she opened her mouth and, with what I knew was her try at an embarrassed laugh, she said, "Oh, my. I just don't know where my manners have been. Would you," she said before lookin' past me and eyein' Sunny. I don't know if I imagined it or not but that smile seemed to thin out a bit when she looked over Sunny, "and your… friend… like to come in?"

Ah, geez. You gotta be kiddin' me. Why the hell does she have to make this harder for me? Would I _like _to come in?

Hell no. Hell no, did I want to go on in and see her perfect little home. I didn't want to see how nice things had worked out for Jack, I didn't want to even have the chance to compare everything he got to everything I don't got. Just… no.

I didn't even have to say it, she knew. And, yeah, I knew she knew. It was the goodness in her, she had to invite me in cause that's what she's supposed to do. I don't think I was supposed to say yes, either. At least, and I'm glad for it, she didn't even give me the chance.

"Or," she said, bringing that prim, pretty grin right back to her prim, pretty face, "I could get Jack for you and—"

It was just then that I realized that, despite all her nice words and empty invitations and everything, Sarah had kept most of the front of the door closed. Her right hand was holding onto the front and her head was pokin' on out into the hall, but there was no way I could look past her and even see into that perfect little home I was imaginin'.

And the only way I realized that was when, all of a sudden, the door pushed out. I don't think Sarah was expectin' it to move like that because she stumbled and lost her grip on the door. By the time she was on her feet again, steady, I saw a… something… dart out from around her skirt and through the now semi-open doorway.

On second look I identified the something: it was a little boy child, two, maybe three years old. He had brown hair, lighter than Sarah's but darker than Jack's, and a chubby face covered with something that I just couldn't figure. Sweets, maybe? Or dirt. Probably dirt.

"Francis! What did mama tell you about pushing?"

The kid didn't even realize that his mother was scoldin' him. He'd stopped right in front of me and was starin' up at me. There was a wide-eyed stare on his face and I hoped like all hell that that ain't the way I was gawpin' at Sarah. Shit, the kid was spooky.

"Hi."

I didn't know what to say. This kid, the spawn of Jack and Sarah, was not what I was expectin' to see today. In fact, this boy—this _Francis_—was the exact opposite of what I was expectin'. To be honest, I was kinda hopin' that, when I got to Norfolk Street, I'd find Jack… just like me.

Older, yeah, smarter, maybe, and… well, alone. No dame by his side, nothin' but a hard life and harder memories. Just like me.

But no.

No…

I shrugged to myself. I was too close to the end, anyway. It wasn't worth it.

"Hey, kid."

There. That was all he was gettin' out of me.

I don't know, maybe my tone or somethin' made Sarah believe that I liked kids or that I wasn't about to run off with her boy because she paused, straightenin' a wrinkle out of the skirt of her dress as she looked at me. Her smile was different this time, friendlier, almost. Softer.

She spared a glance down at her son—I remember looks like those from my mama—before noddin' her head up at me. "I'll be right back," she told me and I knew what she was goin' to say before she said it, "I'll go and get Jack for you."

And she was gone. She left the door partly open, her boy standin' in front of it like some guard.

Kid didn't even notice his ma was gone, he was still starin' up at me. Waitin' for something, almost.

I didn't know what he could want so I just shrugged again. I kinda wanted to look behind and see what Sunny was thinkin' about this whole thing, about Sarah and Jack bein' married and havin' a boy, but I couldn't bring myself to turn around and look. What if she was upset that, you know, it wasn't her in there instead?

Nah, what I really wanted right then was a cigarette. But, of course, I'd done smoked the last of my stash right before walkin' up to Jack's door. I was a fuckin' idiot.

Since I didn't, or couldn't, do any of that, I just looked down. Maybe I wanted to see if I could catch a glimpse of Jack Kelly in the little runt's mug, or maybe I was lookin' at the kid and wonderin' what one woulda looked like if me and Sunny made it… I don't know. But I looked down.

When I met the boy's eyes, dark just like his daddy's, his chubby little face broke out into a great big, cocky smile. Holdin' up three grubby fingers, he announced, "I'm three years old."

Yeah, kid. Thanks. Just what I wanted to know.

I snorted to myself and gave the kid a half of a grin in return.

Now, I ain't _really _a bitter kind of guy. Yeah, so maybe I've done a couple of scummy things in my time because I've been crossed but, when you think about how many times I've been crossed, you'll see how many times I just let it go.

In the back of my mind, in the dark, silent place where I kept track of those low-down bastards who really done me wrong, I slowly and deliberately added a fourth person to my list. There, put down right below Spot Conlon, I remembered: Davey Jacobs.

Didn't know what came of Jack Kelly, did he? Had no idea where any of the old guys went, 'cept for Spot Conlon, right? All but pushed me over the damn Brooklyn Bridge itself, he did.

Oh, Dave. If I ever got the chance, I'm gonna hafta get you for this one.


	11. When liars finally meet

Disclaimer: _This story features characters from Disney's 1992 musical, _Newsies. _I do no stake any claim to them and they are used for fictional purposes only. Any other character is either the property of this author or the creator of said character._

--

**Pick Your Poison **

--

I don't know what the hell Jack was doin' in that apartment—or, to be honest, if he was even in there at all—'cause it seemed like _forever_ thatI was standin' out there waitin' for him.

I didn't have a fancy pocket watch on me or nothin' but I tried to keep time by listenin' to the loud beat of my damn heart. I could feel my blood rushin' through my body and, damn it, I was hot. It was hot in that hallway, humid and thick too. And, on top of all that, I could feel the beginnings of another fit comin' on.

Shit, right? Couldn't fuckin' believe my luck, a coughin' fit. Right outside of Cowboy's place, too. Damn it.

My chest felt like it was bein' squeezed but I fought it, I fought it the best that I could. In fact, I tried so damn hard not to cough that I think I stopped breathin' for a tick. At the very least, I gagged and I was half expectin' to see the grub that Sunny'd got me to eat that mornin', my insides felt so bad. And I _hurt_, too. This fit was the worst I'd had in ages and I was _feelin'_ it.

Hunchin' over a bit, I had my dirty hands—they ain't ever gonna be clean—on my dirty trousers. I struggled to get my breathin' right. It's pure hell, I'll tell ya, tryin' to steal air from a humid hallway that's full of hot and stink and not much else. But I had to. If I didn't, I was gonna choke to death at Jack Kelly's doorstep. Great.

Jack's boy was lookin' up at me. I didn't see the runt doin' it but, in the middle of my coughin' and chokin', I heard him announce loudly in amazement, "Oi, mister, you're turning purple!"

Ya know, maybe it woulda been better if I keeled over and kicked it right there. Turnin' purple, thanks. Just what I wanted to hear when I couldn't breathe as it was.

And, I ain't too sure if that's what I heard, but I'm pretty damn sure that Sunny snickered at that. She didn't offer me none of her help—I wouldn't be surprised if she was spitin' me by not movin' from that damn spot by the steps—but, yeah… she's laughin' at me, and this little brat is tellin' me my face is turnin' colors.

"Frankie, son, what are yo—hey, buddy, are you all right?"

Ah, hell no.

You've got to be fuckin' kiddin' me.

Cause, you know, nothin' could make this better—except for maybe… no. No. Absolutely _nothin'_ could make this whole thing better than Jack Kelly poppin' his head out of that two-bit apartment right at that exact moment.

As quickly as I could I stood back up, swallowin' the last of my coughs and feelin' my belly bloatin' up as I did. I'd be walkin' funny later on for it but, right then, I didn't care. There was a whole lot more on my mind—gas wasn't one of 'em.

There was spit on my face, I could feel it, so I tried my best to wipe it away. A man couldn't bow down to an old chum with spit on his face, right? A rather rough rub at my cheeks, lips and chin and I was lookin' as good as I was gonna get. Not that it mattered none, really. Glancin' up and over at ol' Cowboy, I could see that nothin' I could do would ever make me look like that…

It's been seven years since I last seen him but, just like his dame, I'd know him anywhere. He wasn't altogether too clean like Spot was but I could tell that he didn't want for a tub, you know? He was tan—healthy—and he'd gotten taller, too. He never was a starvin' orphan but, lookin' him over, it was easy to see that Dave's sister had to be a good cook—he had to have at least thirty pounds on me.

His hair, darker than I remembered but still not as dark as Sarah's, was cut real short but, I'll say this, it was still a greasy mess. If I hadn't been close enough to pissin' myself out of nerves, I think I mighta laughed. Seven years and Jack was still a greasy mick.

But I didn't laugh. I just stood there, standin' not two feet away from him. I didn't say nothin' and he didn't neither. But, to be fair, he wasn't even eyein' me just then. After askin' if I was alright—I didn't bother answerin' such a idiot question—he'd bent down just as I was straightenin' up. When he was back to his height he was holdin' that kid of his in his arms.

The boy, Francis, he's pointin' at me. "Papa, he was purple," he said, his tiny voice almost whisperin' as if he's tellin' on me, rattin' me out to his old man.

"That's nice, Frankie," Jack said, soundin' like a man who's heard crazier shit than that in his life but didn't want to upset his boy. He offered the kid a quick pat on his head before turnin' to look me in the eye.

There was a second when his face twitched and he betrayed every feelin' he musta had about me but, I'll be damned, Jack was much better at keepin' his face in check than I was. The second passed and his invitin' grin was back even though his eyes never left my face.

Slowly, and almost awkwardly as I stood there like a mook, givin' him a nervous half smile, Jack knelt back down and set his kid on the ground. Though he was still lookin' at me, he said, "Why don't you go on in and tell Mama to give your face a quick wash?"

"I don't wanna, Papa."

"And I don't care. Here," he said, and this time he looked over at the runt, "if you get all nice and clean, I'll give you a piece of toffee after supper."

The kid's face screwed up in concentration as if this was the hardest decision he ever had to made. Shit, makes me remember how much easier life was when I was three—what I wouldn't give to be three again and not about to hand over the last itty bit of pride I got left over to a man who, really, fucked up my entire life.

I really am a fuckin' idiot.

I guess the kid finally decided that the promise of some toffee later was better than gettin' cleaned up now cause, as I stood there, waitin' for Jack to stand back up, he nodded and ran back into the apartment. Can't say I wasn't sad to see him go—the way the boy said I was turnin' purple echoed in my ears for days after that.

How the hell did some three year old kid know what purple was anyway?

Jack waited until his boy was back inside before slowly closin' the door behind him. I guess he wanted privacy for when he killed me—at least, that's what I was thinkin'—and, ya know, I don't think he even noticed that Sunny was standin' at the end of the hallway. Not that it would matter, anyway.

The last time I thought my world had ended, only them two had been there. It only made it right that they'd be there when I died for real…

Jack surprised me, though. He was standin' again, watchin' me again, but he didn't look angry. In fact, he looked… tired? Confused? Old?

When did we all get so old?

"Skittery." He shook his head then and it caught my attention, stealin' my thoughts from anything else. I only had one thing to focus on then and that was him. "I thought Sarah was pullin' my leg when she said you was out here."

I chuckled, a harsh chuckle that barely escaped out from under my heavy breath. Holdin' out my hands, gesturin' at my body, I told him, "Nah, Jack, she wasn't lyin'. It's me. Skittery Daniels, in the flesh."

Jack nodded at me, an interestin' look on his face. Almost like he can't believe what he's seein', and, even if what he's seein' is really there, like he don't know how to deal with it. His dark eyes went beady and his forehead was wrinkled. There was no knowin' smile, but thin lips were formed in a thin line.

"What are you doin' here? I mean, how did you find the place?"

Despite all my nice intentions, I couldn't help it. I had to spit out the name. "Spot Conlon."

Ya know, it's funny, Jack heard me say Spot's name and he laughed. "You don't sound so happy. Spot screwed you over, I take it?"

"You could say that."

"What, you didn't want to see me?"

"No…" I didn't know what to say. That David Jacobs sent me to Spot instead of givin' me his sister's address for some reason and, because I did see Spot, I got saddled with Sunny? And that, because of Jack fuckin' Sunny back when we was kids, I'd done some bad things and, really, it's a good thing that Jack had a good life—wife, a kid and such—otherwise he'd probably be gunnin' for me?

Hell, it was something different to decide to clear the air with Cowboy before I bit it but, now that I was facin' him, facin' the truth, I didn't want to do it no more. Didn't mean I wasn't goin' to—I knew I had to, even if I didn't want to—but… yeah. I wasn't gonna tell him everything.

The apology was gonna hafta be enough.

"No, Jack. That ain't it. I did want to see ya… I wanted to—" I stopped then and almost turned around. I had half a mind to tell Sunny to wait for me downstairs but, seein' as she'd been by my side ever since leavin' Brooklyn, I knew it'd do no good. Sighin', and well aware that the last seven years had really led up to this moment, I said, "I wanted to say I'm sorry."

Shit, I don't know when I ever saw Jack speechless when we was kids. Everyone called Davey the 'Walkin' Mouth' but Jack… he was always flappin' his gums over something. But he didn't have nothin' to say just then—goddamn it, I think I surprised the bastard.

I felt pretty good about myself.

Well, that is, until Jack found his voice again. "Sorry for what, Skitts?"

I was hopin' that just sayin' the words woulda been enough but, yeah, I never had no luck. Glum and dumb, always. And now, now Jack was makin' me say it—he was makin' me really mean my apology.

Stickin' my hands in my pockets and lookin' down at the hallway floor, I mumbled my answer to him. "You know, Jack… the Refuge… Sarah. Everything. I'm sorry for what happened…"

"Oh."

Just like Spot Conlon, I couln't help but think. Just like Spot Conlon—when I told him exactly what was goin' on, all he had said was 'Oh'. Just like Jack did now. 'Oh'.

"Yeah."

I dared a quick glance at his face and was surprised to see that he was wearin' that thinkin' face of his again. I remembered it from that time when Jack was tryin' to figure out how we was all gonna go strike against ol' Pulitzer and the_ World_ and wished I still had another cigarette. Right then, Jack sure as hell looked like he needed one.

"That was a long time ago, Skittery. It took some time to get over it all but… it all worked out in the end. So why are you really here?"

I shrugged again, leavin' my hands in my pockets. "That's it, Jack. It took me even more time to get over it but I finally realized what a shitty thing I did to you. I had to say I'm sorry, ya know? 'Cause I am. I don't know if that means anything to you or nothin' but my word's all I got now. And I'm sorry."

And I couldn't help it. One cough escaped and, in that moment, I think Jack knew. He never got the chance to sneak a glance down at Sunny because he eyes were glued on my face. We used to pals, we used to be brothers but he fucked Sunny so I fucked him. But now… we were grown men, with different lives and very different futures.

I coughed and he knew.

Damn, Jack. He was always smarter than anyone—includin' himself—gave him credit for.

His face softened and he nodded. "Well, thanks, Skitts. I appreciate you comin' down here and tellin' me that." He looked sincere when he said and, ya know what, I believed him, too. He didn't have nothin' to be sorry about—he had a good life, a good family and, well, he wasn't dyin' of a cough.

I nodded back, shruggin' simply as if me comin' back after seven years just to say sorry was the most natural thing in the world. "I had to," I said, meanin' it.

It's 1907. Can ya believe that? Over seven years I've been gone and, if I had my way, I'd never have come back. But a man's got a thing or two that he's gotta do before he dies and, well, this was mine. No one's gonna accuse me of leavin' no unfinished business behind me when I go.

He reached out and put one of his big, strong hands on my shoulder. My knees almost buckled under it—he _was _strong and, well, I didn't get much sleep before—but I stayed up standin' somehow. "It was good seein' you again. You should come around more, I'm sure the other guys would like to see ya. Shouldn't hafta wait another seven years."

As he spoke the faces of Spot Conlon and David Jacobs flashed before my eyes and I had to work to fight back a snort. Didn't want to break up this moment and all but, shit, there are some guys I don't never wanna see again.

Instead, I offered him a crooked grin. "Sure thing," I lied. And I'm pretty sure that Jack knew I was lyin' to. Liars can always recognize each other, I figure. Just like Jack was lyin' when he suggested I even had another seven years to wait, he had to know I was lyin' now… "Sounds good."

"All right. In that case… take care, Skitts."

"Yeah. You, too, Jack."

And that was it. He nodded at me and, with a flicker of that ol' cocky grin he used to wear when we was kids, he turned around and entered his apartment. The door closed behind him and I took that as my cue to go. It wasn't like I wanted to linger in the hallway anymore, either—even if I had nothin' left to look forward to.

I didn't even look at Sunny as I started to walk down the hallway. My eyes were on the ground, seein' but not seein' as I shuffled towards the stairs. I didn't know what to think so I didn't think at all. I just passed her by, feelin' her questioning gaze on my neck but ignorin' it entirely.

I was pretty much out of it as I headed slowly down the steps, a faint stitch in my side and Sunny's C_lack—_C_lack—_C_lack _echoing in my head. After holdin' onto a seven year grudge, it was all over. I'd givin' up the last of my pride and I'd made nice to Jack Kelly.

And, after all that, I still ain't dead.

Damn it.

--

I heard the strikin' of the match and it broke most of the damn fog I'd been in. I don't think I was surprised—in fact, it seemed almost so predictable that I automatically stuck my hand behind my back, silently demandin' that cigarette.

Without a word, Sunny shuffled forward—I didn't even hear the C_lack—_C_lack—_C_lack _of her damn shoes against the dirt street as she did—and placed the unlit end of the smoke into my hand. There was a second where I felt the tips of her fingers brushing against the rough callus of my hands, but I didn't keep my arm folded up behind me long. I needed that smoke.

I think the truth of everything started to hit me soon as I took that first drag off of the cigarette.

After seven years of hatin' Sunny, hatin' Jack—hatin' _me_—I had no hate left to give. And, there I was, standin' side by side with Sunny Willows, havin' just apologized to Jack for doin' him wrong back when we was kids. And, yeah, he'd done me wrong, too, made my life what it was while he was livin' it up with Sarah Jacobs, but I couldn't blame him no more. Just like I couldn't find it in me to really forgive Sunny for turnin' her back on me, I couldn't find it in me to keep on blamin' Jack.

I don't know why. He'd taken my Sunny away from when I coulda had everything he had with Sarah if he hadn't but… I couldn't blame him. Maybe it was because he was a big enough person to beg for Sarah's forgiveness—maybe it was because she was big enough to forgive him when he cheated on her.

Either way, it was time to let the fuckin' past just die. I made my peace and now it was my turn.

I took another drag on the cigarette, a rough breath that burned my throat as I sucked, and let myself succumb to the coughs. I'd been holdin' 'em in ever since I first saw Jack and it was time, now as me and Sunny continued on headin' on our way to the Bridge—even if she didn't know that's where we was goin', I knew; it was time to finally get her back to Spot Conlon—to let 'em out.

I needed it.

It was a tough and terrible fit, one that left me gaspin' for air and holdin' onto my right side when I was done. I kept the cigarette held tight in my left hand as I choked because it's stupid to let a good smoke go to waste so, when I was able to stand straight again, I stuck the half-burnt cigarette between my lips.

Sunny had stopped when she first heard me coughin' and, unless I was imaginin' it, I think I might've felt the soft feel of her lacey gloves on my arm as she tried to help me through the fit. By the time it was done, though, she'd taken a few steps away from me, lookin' me over with her brown eyes squinted.

I didn't like the way she was lookin' at me so, as I continued to smoke that same smoke as if nothin' had just happened, I turned my back on her. The last thing I need just then—apart from her askin' me questions about what happened back at Jack's but even Sunny was smart enough to let that go for now—was her pityin' me.

I didn't want her pity, and I sure as hell didn't need it.

It's a real shame that Jack didn't go on and kill me like I wished he would have.

There was a quick sound, almost like a sharp breath, comin' from Sunny but I still didn't turn around. I could tell that she had somethin' on her mind and, since I knew damn well what it was and didn't want to deal with it, I kept my back to her and, hunched over again, I started to walk away. Maybe if I ignored her long enough she'd just give up and go home…

It didn't work.

"I can tell you're sick, Skitts," she said, comin' outta nowhere with it. She sounded all no nonsense and sure of her herself but it didn't last; her next words sound heavy, like she knows the answer but wants to hear it come from me, myself. She added, "Are ya dyin'?"

To be honest, I didn't think she'd had it in her. Pretty blunt, that's what it was, to come out and ask a man something like that. Especially when she had to know that I was ignorin' her. Hell, that's probably why she did it. And, yeah, it's pretty obvious, what with all the coughin', that I ain't alright—but to ask me if I was dyin'? Shit, Sun…

I was surprised, I admit, and I sure as hell didn't know what to say. I stopped walkin', that much I know, and slowly, real damn slow-like, I turned my head so that I was lookin' over my stooped shoulder.

She was standin' there, her gloved hands on her hips. Her jaw was set and she was frownin' but her eyes… her eyes were pleadin' with me.

I sighed and looked down at the dirt.

"Does it matter?"

* * *

Author's Note: _Well, that's it... for the most part. Skittery and Jack finally met - and all that's left now are two more chapters. I actually have most of the last one all done up so, surprise surprise, I'm actually going to finally finish Poison. Even though these two finally had their meeting, there's still further resolution that needs to come about - until then, though, I hope anybody reading this enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it._


	12. Repayin' the favor

Disclaimer: _This story features characters from Disney's 1992 musical, _Newsies. _I do no stake any claim to them and they are used for fictional purposes only. Any other character is either the property of this author or the creator of said character._

--

**Pick Your Poison **

--

_"C'mon, boys, up and at 'em! Sell a paper, sell the papes!" _

_It was too early for this shit and, to be honest, while Kloppman was yellin' his early mornin' wake-up calls, I wished I coulda thrown one of my old boots at the man. Yeah, I know its his job and all to make sure that us newsies do our jobs but… jeez, did he have to yell so loud? That was one rough night I'd had... well, what I could remember of it was. _

_My eyes were closed but I can't really say that I was sleepin'. Still, when ol' Kloppman stopped right at the edge of my bunk and slapped at my foot, I wasn't about to let him know that. I've never been a mornin' person—early mornings always seem to put me in a bad mood—and a headache like the one I felt comin' on wasn't helpin' me at all. _

_"Skittery? Hey, Skittery. Time to get up, boy!" _

_The old man wasn't takin' the hint. Damn it. _

_Almost mumblin' to myself, I offered a weak soundin', "I didn't do it," before blearily openin' up my left eye. Seein' as it was still January, there wasn't any sunlight comin' into the bunkroom but Kloppman had a candle in his hand. The shock of the bright flame sent a sharp pain through my head and I groaned once before shuttin' my eye again. _

_That fuckin' hurt. _

_And, ya know what? That wasn't the worst of it. Yeah, my head hurt, and my eyes felt so scratchy and dry, like they was filled with dirt and grit, but my stomach felt like I swallowed one of them fancy jumpin' beans from Mexico that I saw this two-bit peddler tryin' to sell over on Bottle Alley. _

_I was thirsty, too. Real thirsty, so thirsty that I probably woulda taken a mouthful off of the old water pump straight if none of the other fellas woulda stopped me. Funny, that, me bein' so thirsty—I might not remember much about last night, but I'm pretty sure I'd had more than enough to drink. 'Cause, otherwise, I don't know where the hell this feelin' came from. _

_I guess Kloppman gave up on me—that, or he knew that the others had to get up, too—'cause I heard him hollerin' for Bumlets next. It ain't like it's not my choice, if I want to sell or if I want to do nothin'. It's my money, right? So I won't be able to eat any supper or pay for lodgin' later… I don't plan on stickin' around that long, anyway. _

_'Sides, I really needed to sleep this off before I leave the lodgin' house for good. It just won't do to start my new life sufferin' from yesterday's liquor. _

_Now, I've never been a real big drinker. Sure, whenever the headlines were good and I could afford it, it was always a treat to have a nice cup of somethin' with a cigarette, but that's it. Alcohol was a vice that I just couldn't pay for, ya know? _

_But, shit, there's just some things that a guy sees and feels that can only be dulled by a coupla glasses of something thick, strong and wet… _

_It's been over a week since I went down to Sunshine's and walked in on Cowboy and Sunny… together. And, 'sides from spendin' a good chunk of my earnin's all week down at the pub on 25th street, I haven't done nothin' about what I seen. True, I ain't gone back to that fuckin' burlesque joint since then but at least every time I've seen Jack I've kept my hands off of his dirty neck. And it ain't because I'm such a nice guy, either. _

_I got a plan, a good one, too. All I needed was to get up the nerve to cross the Brooklyn Bridge and visit a pal of mine for some help. And, from the goddamn headache and all together shitty feeling I had—that, plus some hazy memories from last night—I'm pretty sure that that's all said and done. _

_Ya see, I know this guy. Louie. He's a coupla years younger than me, lives over in Brooklyn. He's got this older brother, Sammy, a good guy who got an alright job in Jersey. It's hard work, yeah, long hours and all but it gives him three squares a day and a coupla dollars a week. _

_And I can't be a newsie forever, can I? _

_Anyway, Louie used to live around these parts, hawkin' headlines for the _Sun_—that's how I met him, ya know—before he moved on over the Bridge to join Spot Conlon and his boys. He still comes around here, though, and the last time I ran into him at Tibby's, he was tellin' me all about this job his brother's got. _

_I've been thinkin' about it a lot lately—I don't think I've really done nothin' this past week but think—and my mind kept bringin' up Sammy over in Jersey. There ain't nothin' left for me here in New York; why shouldn't I start fresh in a new state? _

_But, seein' as how I've never found the nerve to cross the Bridge before, it was tough. I couldn't do it on my own and I sure as hell couldn't do it sober. And then, yesterday mornin', I'd remembered all about Racetrack and that poker game he had goin' on in Brooklyn. All it took was agreein' to help him out before stoppin' down at that joint on 25th street and presto! _

_He may have had to nearly carry my sorry ass over that stupid Bridge, but I made it over to Brooklyn. I did it—it may have been one of the last things I did before leavin' this place, but I did it. __And then, in the haze and fumes of yesterday's liquor, I forgot all about it. _

_Speakin' of Race… _

_"Skittery, get up!" _

_Ah, jeez, what the hell does he want from me? I thought everyone was leavin' me behind. _

_I could feel his hand shakin' my shoulder and, for a good second, I thought about just keepin' my eyes shut and pretendin' that I couldn't hear his voice. I doubted it would work—Race can be a stubborn bastard sometimes—but, really, I didn't have it in me to talk to him just yet. _

_"C'mon, Skitts. I know you were out of it last night, but it's mornin' now, you mook!" _

_He was insultin' me, too. He's lucky that my head felt the way it did—I mighta punched him in the mouth for that. _

_"What do you want, Race?" I said, my voice soundin' scratchy and low. I was still fuckin' thirsty and my throat was too dry for my voice to sound normal. I slowly opened my eyes and, I'll tell ya this, gettin' an eyeful of Racetrack Higgins first thing in the mornin' isn't good when you feel like hurlin' already. _

_"He's alive," Race cracked, the stub of one of his cigars clamped between his yellow teeth. "I thought that shit ya drank last night mighta killed ya." _

_I didn't really remember much of what happened last night and I guess it showed on my face 'cause Race rolled his eyes before explainin', "Last night? The poker game over in Brooklyn? Don't you remember?" _

_I remembered Brooklyn, sure, and I remember drinkin' enough that I'm surprised I didn't piss myself while I was sleepin' but a poker game? _

_Oh, yeah… that's right. Race had that poker game with Spot Conlon and his boys—he told me that, if I went with him, he'd buy me a drink. Besides, after everything that happened with Sunny and… yeah. I never told none of the others but Race, he kinda knew and he all but dragged me over the damn Bridge himself last night. _

_After I drank one cup too many of some real strong whiskey. _

_Shit. _

_I started to nod but it made my head feel like it was gonna roll right off my shoulders so I stopped. "Yeah, Race. I remember. Good game, huh?" _

_"Good game? Well, for me, yeah. Spot and his cronies were watchin' you make a drunken ass out of yourself, Skitts, and none of 'em noticed that I marked the deck." _

_His words were helpin' me remember—and it wasn't nothin' I wanted to remember. I could just imagine what the hell I did after stumblin' into the Brooklyn lodgin' house. And, thinkin' back, I'm pretty sure that I ended up losin' all the money I had, too. _

_"It was just a damn game. It didn't mean nothin'." _

_Snortin', and almost spittin' his unlit stogie onto my head, Race said, "A poker game, not mean nothin'? If you say so, buddy." Then, shakin' his head and pokin' me in the arm, he added, "Let's go. I'm sure you've got one hell of a hangover, the way you downed glass after glass last night, but ya gotta eat. Here," he said, reachin' one of his thick, little fingers into one of the pockets in his vest and pullin' out a quarter, "I know you ended up short last night. I'll get your papes for you today, on account of you helpin' me out in Brooklyn. What do you say to that?" _

_Even feelin' as crummy and foggy as I did, I could tell that Race was itchin' to follow the rest of the guys. Sometimes, if a fella takes too long to make it to the distribution center, there ain't enough papes left to buy and, just 'cause I was headin' out, I didn't want to mess with Race. Even from my place on my bunk I could see that almost all of the other boys had woken up—out of the corner of my eye I watched as Jack tied his damn neckerchief on before hurryin' out of the room—and were already gone. _

_In fact, there were really only two people who weren't ready: me and Race. Race was waitin' for me… plus, he was givin' me money. _

_Damn, I was gonna miss that bum. _

_"Thanks, Race. I owe ya," I said, takin' the coin he offered and givin' him a lopsided grin. _

_He shoulda known something was up. I was sick, I was tired and I was broke—I had nothin' to grin about, but I was grinnin'. But, then again, that's Race. If he can't make a couple cents profit off of it, or offer it some smart ass remark, it don't mean much to him. And, shit, I wouldn't have him any other way. _

_"Sure thing, Skitts," he said, chewin' the stub of his cigar as he nodded at me. "Listen, you go and get ready and I'll catch ya down at the window, yeah?" _

_I nodded. It was low, lyin' to Race, but, hey, at least it wasn't Mush. I don't think I could go on and do what I was plannin' on doin' if it was Mush who stayed behind to talk to me… _

_"See ya." _

_I watched as Race ran his damn comb through his greasy black hair before stowin' it in the pocket of his vest. I had the sudden urge to reach out, grab that comb and snap it in half—I remembered the last time I borrowed it and, trust me, I didn't need the sight of the stupid comb to remind me—but I didn't. I couldn't. _

_Leavin' the sappy, un-Skittery grin on my sloppy face, I watched as Race's short, stubby legs carried him out of the bunkroom and down the steps. I wasn't used to bein' the last of the boys out of the bunkroom and, silently, I looked around. This was how I was gonna remember this place, all quiet and empty and lonely. _

_I shook my head, ignorin' that little bit of me—the sense I had left, I figure—that told me to grow up and give up. Was it worth it, doin' all of this, just cause my pride got a little hurt? Cause my heart got a little broke? _

_You bet it was. _

_Gettin' ready didn't take long. A quick splash of water at the pump and a half-hearted rub with someone's dirty towel and I was set. There wasn't much that I really owned so I wrapped up the little bit that was into one of the sheets I stole off of someone's bed and slung the pack over my shoulder. _

_I was good to go. _

_No. Wait… _

_There was one last thing I wanted to do before leavin' Duane Street behind. With a smirk on my face that could rival any that Spot Conlon wore, I tiptoed over to Jack's bunk. Only steppin' up two rungs on that ladder, enough that I could reach his bed, I glared down at the place where that bummer usually slept. I didn't breath just then, just in case I caught a whiff of that honey smell I knew was Sunny; I didn't think I could stand it if her scent mixed with Jack's stink and lingered in the bunkroom. _

_And then, hockin' the biggest glob of spit I could manage, I spat on Jack Kelly's damn pillow. If everything went like I wanted it to, he wouldn't be needed it longer but… that felt good. _

_I needed that. _

_Now that that petty act of revenge was out of my way, it was time to head off to the Jacobs' apartment. I'm sure Sarah is just dyin' to see me. _

_Jack Kelly's gotta learn. By fuckin' my girl behind my back, he fucked me. All I'm doin' is repayin' the favor. _

_-- _

_I'd only ever been to Davey Jacobs' place one time before this. I don't really remember what brought me there, except that I was out walkin' with Race one night last fall—killin' time, I'd wager, until I could see Sunny again, shit—and Jack Kelly got him to take a message over to Sarah for him. _

_Lookin' back on it now, I just wonder what whore he was sleepin' with then that he couldn't talk to his own damn girl himself. With my luck, it probably was Sunny then, too… _

_Now, I may not be the smartest guy around, but I got a way with directions. I'd follow my feet anywhere, and not just cause they're attached to the rest of me, ya know? So, though I may have gotten confused for a coupla blocks, it didn't take me that long to remember where the Jacobs' apartment was. _

_The problem was, when it came down to it, actually knockin' on that front door. _

_There I was, a bitter kid whose dame had turned on him. Could I do that to someone else? _

_Didn't really matter, did it? I was gonna do it anyway. _

_So I knocked. _

_I ain't too sure that she recognized me when she opened the door but I knew who exactly she was. Sarah was pretty in her own way, with her long brown hair and fair skin but, if I'm bein' honest, she wasn't no Sunny. Maybe I've always been a sucker for a flashy dame but Sarah seemed too… _nice_ for me. _

_For a second, I'd felt guilty about what I was gonna do. But then I thought better about it. Nice, that's what I thought she was—didn't a nice girl deserve to know what a lousy bum Jack Kelly was? _

_I introduced myself and said that I was lookin' for her and not her brothers, and she told me she remembered who I was. I guess we'd met once or twice—Jack had a knack for tryin' to show her off when she was on his arm—and she said that David spoke highly of me. Called me one of his friends and I almost wanted to call her out for lyin' to make me feel important. _

_Nice, just too fuckin' nice, ya know? _

_But I didn't. I waited until she did all the little niceties, includin' invitin' me into the apartment—I'm sure her mother woulda loved that—before shakin' my head and frownin'. I didn't want her to think I was enjoyin' doin' this to her, even if it did make me feel a bit better, ya know? _

_"Sarah," I said, my voice comin' out a little smoother now than it had this mornin', "I'm sure you're wonderin' what I'm doin' here, especially since I came to see you," and then, before she could interrupt me or I could lose my nerve, "and, I gotta tell you, it's got something to do with your Jack." _

_"Jack?" she asked, one of her clean, pale hands rising to her chest as her brown eyes narrowed in worry. "Is he all right?" _

_I really didn't want to answer that but, the way she looked horrified, I realized that she thought something was wrong with Jack. Well, there would be, but, by then, I doubted she'd be worried for him. _

_I shook my head. "It's… it's not that. He's—he's fine, okay. It's just that…" _

_I sounded like a fuckin' idiot and I knew that. But what was I supposed to do? I ain't never had to do something like this before, especially to a buddy— _

_No. Jack Kelly ain't no friend of mine. Friends don't do to each other what he did to me. _

_And Sunny… _

_The anger hit me at once and I couldn't help it. I'm just lucky that, at the last minute, I remembered that Sarah was a lady and that it wasn't right to use such language in front of her. _

_"…Jack's been steppin' out on ya, Sarah. He's seein' other girls." _

_I don't think that I coulda put it any easier than that, or any nicer, really. I mean, I don't think it was worth the way she got all teared up. There was a minute of silent, when I wondered if she heard me and she stood there, not sayin' nothin', even though her eyes were startin' to get all damp. _

_And then… _

_"Excuse me? Wha—" _

_Oh, damn it. Why can't tellin' news like this ever be easy? No, ya gotta repeat yourself like a fuckin' bird. _

_"You ain't the only one he's with, Sarah. He's cheatin', do ya understand?" _

_Alright, maybe I did get a bit nasty but, c'mon? She was already tearin' up, maybe a good cry would be good for her. _

_Right? _

_"How? I… how do you know?" she asked me, not so much whisperin' as talkin' real quiet-like. I don't know, I kinda think those tears of hers weren't cause she was sad or surprised, because how could she really be surprised—but 'cause she was hurt. Betrayed. But there were still tears and, deep down, I felt like a bastard for makin' her cry. _

_I felt like a bastard because I know exactly how she felt. _

_I shrugged and, with that one gesture, I tried to tell her more with my shoulders than with I could with my mouth. "Cause he was with my girl." _

_Nothin' else had to be said. Even if there was anythin' else, neither one of us could do it. She was still too surprised, and I still wasn't over it the pain of seein' Sunny and Jack together. _

_I didn't know if I ever would be… but this was a start. _

_I mumbled some sort of incoherent, unimpressive apology—I ain't too good at sayin' sorry—before stickin' my hands in my pockets and shufflin' away from her. She was cryin', I could hear the snifflin', and I didn't want to see it. I did what I had to do—what I wanted to do—and I didn't need to hang around. _

_Besides, I still had one more thing left to do before takin' off. _

_Now, what's a guy gotta do to get hold of a copper? _

* * *

Author's Note: _Only one last chapter to go, now. I hope this last flashback kinda sheds some light on what happened seven years ago - and why Skittery is apologizing to Jack. However, even though this is the last flashback, the backstory is not complete. Thank goodness that there's one more bit to this story left, eh? _


	13. Pick your poison

Disclaimer: _This story features characters from Disney's 1992 musical, _Newsies. _I do no stake any claim to them and they are used for fictional purposes only. Any other character is either the property of this author or the creator of said character._

--

**Pick Your Poison **

--

I didn't expect Sunny to have an answer for me. I don't know what I woulda done if she had something to say to that but… if I'm bein' honest with me, it woulda been nice for her to say that it did, that it did matter. We had some good times way back when, back before she chose Jack Kelly and Spot Conlon over me, and it woulda helped me die a bit easier knowin' that it mattered to her that I _was _dyin'.

Shit, just because I didn't want her to _know _I was dyin', it didn't mean that I liked the idea that it didn't matter to her that I _was _dyin'.

So, yeah, the silence after that short exchange was pretty loud and I couldn't take it. Even though the cigarette was only about halfway smoked, I tossed the damn thing to the ground out of… I don't know, maybe it was frustration, maybe it was anger. Hell, it might've even been hurt.

Or stupidity. There'd been half a smoke left and, just 'cause the cat's got Sunny's tongue, I threw it away.

Shakin' my head, I didn't even look back up. I kept my eye on the dirt and, purposely, started to walk away from her, mumblin' as I went. "Forget it, Sunny, just forget all of it."

I ain't too sure what was goin' on in Sunny's head then but it took her a bit before she started up after me again. For a tick there, I didn't think she was ever gonna move from that spot—but, then again, whether she was Sunny Willows or little Mary, I knew the girl. There was no way she was gonna let me walk away from her like that.

Especially now that she knows.

There ain't no way in Hell that she was gonna let me walk away from her without sayin' _something_ about me dyin'. I knew that—I just wished I didn't. It woulda been a whole lot easier on me—and, even if she don't care, it ain't nice to know that someone's sick and dyin'—if she'd never even opened her trap.

She surprised me and, considerin' the day I'd had—findin' out that Spot tricked me, that Sarah married Jack and they had a kid, that Jack didn't want to kill me for sendin' him to the Refuge seven years ago—that was sayin' something. I didn't think I had it left in me to be surprises but Sunny surprised me.

She didn't say nothing.

The sound was faint, almost like she was tryin' her damndest not to make a noice. But I heard it and I had the feelin' that I'd hear the echoes of her c_lack—_c_lack_—c_lack _until the day I actually died. She was right up behind me, followin' me wherever I went, but she wasn't sayin' nothing.

It was a good thing that I was walkin' ahead of her. I didn't want to see her and I sure as hell didn't want her lookin' at me right then. From that last fight of mine, I could feel tears in my eyes and I'm pretty damn sure there was spittle on my chin but I didn't even bother wipin' at it now.

I didn't care and, 'sides, we was just about at the Brooklyn Bridge.

Thank fuckin' God.

There was only—what? Two blocks, maybe three until we'd get there and I was glad. I didn't even need to bother crossin' the damn Bridge to bring Sunny back to Spot's… accounting firm. If Spot was so sure that she knew her way around the City, then it ain't too much to ask that she go on over the Bridge alone and make her way back to Bridge Street, right?

Yeah.

Besides, she done what Spot had told her to do. She'd taken me to Jack's place. It was over and done with. I bet she couldn't wait to be back with that short bastard, anyway.

The image of Spot and his sharklike grin was hauntin' me as I trudged on, shufflin' down the street. I could see the Bridge loomin' ahead of me and, for the first time I could remember, I didn't even feel the tiniest bits of nerves at seein' the damn thing in front of me. I guess I had too much shit on my mind to worry about a damn Bridge.

Or maybe it was because, as soon as I caught sight of the Bridge, I noticed something was missin'.

I didn't hear the damn c_lack_—c_lack—_c_lack _of her heels no more.

Slowly, and pretendin' like I was angry rather than tired, annoyed rather than hurt, I turned around and looked for Sunny. It was pushin' midday and the streets were busy but, shit, I could find Sunny anywhere. There was something about that girl that caught my eye no matter what…

I could see her, standin' about half a block back. As if she knew exactly where she was goin'—and how couldn't she, what with the big Bridge perched right in front of us—but she don't want to go, she's stopped. Her hands were folded primly before her but I recognized by the tilt of her head that she was set.

She didn't want to go over the Bridge. Not yet, anyways.

Sunny wasn't done with me, yet.

Sighin', I took a coupla steps forward, movin' closer to it so that I wasn't hollerin' across half a street just to tell her to hurry up. When I was only a few feet away from her, I paused. "What are you doin', Sunny? We gotta get goin', I'm sure Spot's gonna be wor—"

"I never stopped lovin' you, Benny."

She mighta been the one interruptin' me but, as soon as she said those words, I'd forgotten what it was I was already sayin'. My mouth dropped open—either I was hearin' things or Sunny was pullin' my leg, big time.

"What the hell did you just say?"

"I never stopped lovin' you, Benny," she repeated, louder this time. I glared over at her, darin' her to look me in the eye and lie to me. She met my gaze and I could see that her cheeks were damp—but there were no tears. She wasn't cryin' but she was serious as she continued, "I never stopped hopin' that one day… just, one day, you'd come back and you'd tell me why you left."

I wasn't in the mood for this. Yeah, maybe I shoulda been expectin' something like this from her, especially after the way she came on to me last night, but this was low. After everything the two of us have been through, back then and yesterday and today, I couldn't believe she was sayin' this now.

Not now.

Maybe if I woulda been expectin' this her words wouldn't have been such a surprise—maybe then I wouldn't have been such an ass when I retorted back. But, I'll tell ya this: I wasn't expectin' this and, because I was ignorant, I was mad. I was angry.

And I took it all out on her.

I apologized to Jack for what I did to him, what I did to Sarah. But he didn't apologize to me, I realized. And, with Sunny sayin' shit like that to me, it wasn't no surprise that I turned on her like that.

She was the only one that was left…

"You never stopped, huh? It must be fuckin' hard to keep on pinin' after my sorry ass when you're fuckin' Spot Conlon, Sunny." I sounded bitter and that was good but, hell, yeah, I guess I _was_ bitter. How dare her, how dare her tell me that still _loved _me. Like that was gonna mean something after what she put me through, shit. "Besides, you know damn well why I left. And now," I snorted, "now you know why the fuck I came back."

If, for a moment, I thought that Sunny hadn't been eavesdroppin' when I was talkin' to Jack, her face gave it away. "You sent Jack away," she told me and I knew she could figure exactly what I told that copper back in 1900, "I kinda always knew you were the one who did it but I could never figure out why. You just up and left and the next thing I knew, Jack Kelly hisself was bein' hauled off to the Refuge again. Bu—"

"He deserved it." I straightened up, it was hell on my back, but I towered over her. "Look at him, with his perfect little family and his perfect little life. Don't tell me he didn't deserve everything he got for what he did to me. And look, he still ended out on fuckin' top."

I was _really _mad, then. Could ya blame me?

She knew that I wasn't makin' no sense, that I was talkin' through my anger, but she didn't give in. Instead, she made me fall to my knees with her own damn words. "Why'd you do it, Benny? You messed with Jack and then you were gone." Oh, she was fumin' then.

She had no right to be angry but she was. Her perfect perfect curls were hangin' limply around her shoulders and her face had turned as red as fresh blood. Her hands weren't on her hips no more, they were stretched out in front of her as if she was pushin' me away and pullin' me in in one gesture.

And she wasn't done yet. "We could have had that, we could have been just like Jack and his wife. Me and you, our own place, a kid or two. That could have been us, you know. Why'd you do it, Benny?"

We was yellin' now, me and Sunny, and I didn't care. It was seven years comin' for both of us.

I didn't even bother lookin' around to see if any of the other people on the streets was watchin' me and her. I just hollered right back, "Because he fucked you, Sunny!" I was pantin' hard and I figured it was time I started to calm down before the coughs came. I took a breath, then another, before sayin', "You was my girl and Jack Kelly fucked you. That's why I did it."

The way she looked at me just then was as if I'd just slapped her across the face. She took a step away. "Me? And Jack? Never—"

"Don't fuckin' lie to me, Sunny. I saw you, both of you, over at Sunshine's before I left. That's _why_ I left, you know. I was gonna to ask you to marry me and you were with _him_."

The color drained from her face. In one instant, she went from red to white all over, every bit of her losin' color. She looked dead herself as she managed to spit out one word: "Marry?"

I know I never shoulda told her that but, damn it, just like tellin' Jack that I was sorry was something that I had to do, I think I was supposed to tell Sunny about what coulda been. If only for my own peace—and 'cause I'm a selfish bastard—I had to tell her… so I did.

"Yeah. _Marry_. I don't know what I was thinkin' when I was a kid but I wanted to marry you, make you my wife and everything. But I couldn't, not after what I'd seen."

I was beginnin' to feel pretty queasy, almost like I was gonna get sick all over the place but my pride wasn't havin' none of that. I had one more thing I had to say—it was as if this whole thing, bein' partnered with Sunny again, was because I had one last thing I needed to get off my chest.

With a laugh that could be best described as cruel, I told her, "I may have been sorry about what I'd done to Jack. Hell, I may even regret runnin' off on everything I'd ever known but I'll say this: I wasn't sorry then about leavin' a two-bit cheatin' whore behind and I sure as hell ain't sorry now."

I thought it was done. I'd finally been able to, after seven damn years, been able to tell Sunny the truth. To let her know how I felt then and why those feelings had, after so many years, brought me back to New York.

I'd come because I needed to apologize to Jack Kelly. I wasn't supposed to ever see Sunny again and, even though I did, nothin' mattered. Right, Sun? Nothin' mattered, huh?

"You should be."

What?

"'Scuse me?"

There was a flush to her cheeks, like some of the color had returned. Like she was gettin' some of the fight back in her. But she didn't look angry—she looked… upset? Sad? Alone?

What was goin' on? She wasn't supposed to look like that. Angry, sure, shocked, yeah. But upset? She didn't have the right to be upset at anything I said. She was the one who cheated on _me, _who fucked up _my _life. Why was _she _upset?

Her lips were drawn, thin and mean, as she answered me. "I said you should be. I was never with Jack Kelly. Never. I've never been with no one else, you ass." She was gettin' all worked up again. Her eyes almost seemed to be on fire and her once perfect curls were flyin' in the summer heat as she bobbed her head in anger. "I never even fucked Spot Conlon, as you seem to be so keen on suggestin'. I'm his damn trophy, his damn prize, but I've never been his whore. I told you before and I'll tell you again—the only whore I've ever been is yours!"

I ignored the whole second half of her rant, focusin' instead on what she said first. I wasn't ready—I never would be—to face the consequences of Sunny's heated admission. "Oh, yeah? Then who did I see him sleepin' with? Your fuckin' twin?"

She opened her mouth to retort but stopped. She blinked her eyes twice and, when she spoke, she sounded more strangled than anything. I guess she was quicker on the uptake than me 'cause she figured it all out first. "Wait. You… you saw someone who… _looked_… like me, screwin' Jack? Is that what you're sayin'?"

"Yeah. You."

"No."

"What the fuck do you mean? No? Come off it, Sunny. Do you really think I'd do everything I did, run off like that seven years ago, if I wasn't sure that that was you I saw?"

"It wasn't me, I can promise you that. But I've got a pretty good idea who it could have been."

"Who, Sunny? Who was that I saw on top of Jack Kelly?"

She tried to place one of her hands on me but I jerked my hand out of her reach. This wasn't the time to be playin' around and I think she knew that. At the very least, she pulled her hand back and tried to talk reasonably to me. "This girl, I bet she had long blonde hair

"Like you," I interrupted, nastier than I shoulda.

Sunny tensed and I could tell that she took offense at my tone. Yeah, she was tryin' to be nice but I wasn't havin' it. The way I saw it, she wasn't tryin' to be nice—she was tryin' to cover her ass seven years later. Whatever it was, she was talkin' again. "And she was slim—"

I couldn't help myself. "Yeah, like you."

This time, she ignored me. "And she was a tramp."

I had half a mind to repeat myself again but, when I looked into Sunny's face, I knew that I didn't have the nerve to say it again. I'm a dyin' man, yeah, and I'd been hopin' that Jack would do me in but, when I met Sunny's blazin' eyes, I almost saw death and, shit, it wasn't pretty.

Instead, I just nodded.

"Doesn't that sound familiar? Doesn't it sound like anyone you knew?"

I almost think she was pleadin' with me. It sounded like she had an idea in her head and was hopin' that I'd fall for it but… I don't know. I don't think I could. After all this time, I don't think I could believe that I was wrong.

"No," I said, even though I wasn't even tryin' to think what she was thinkin'. It was so much easier to be angry and ignorant. If Sunny was tellin' the truth, even if I didn't think she was, then that meant I was wrong. That I'd played around in the life of an innocent man and left behind the only girl I'd ever loved because of my fucked up pride.

"You're lyin'," Sunny replied, simple as that. "You know as well as I do which one of Harry's girls fits that description, Benny, and it sure wasn't me."

She was baitin' me and, damn it, I couldn't resist.

"Then who was it?"

"Molly."

Her answer hit me right in the chest. But it wasn't the coughs that was stealin' my breath—I couldn't breathe because I knew, without even really knowin', that she was right.

Molly O'Mahoney. It was only yesterday that I remembered just how alike she and Sunny looked when they were younger, what with their dirty blonde hair and their brown eyes. They was just about the same age too, Sunny a year younger than Molly, and Molly was always sore about that point. Thought she was better than Sunny; everyone else just thought she was a cheaper version of Sunny Willows.

She was a tramp alright, ready to sleep with anyone who was willin'.

Includin', I would bet, Jack Kelly.

I was shakin' my head, tryin' not to listen to Sunny—listen to my own damn conscience—but it wasn't workin'. Sunny had never lied to me in all the time I knew her so, even though she's grown now and livin' with Spot Conlon, it was hard to believe she'd start now.

Molly, damn it.

I shoulda fuckin' known.

"Oh."

Look at that, I'm takin' after Spot and Jack, after all. Sunny tells me, tells me after seven damn years, that it wasn't her I saw fuckin' Jack and what do I say? 'Oh'.

Ya know, it woulda be a whole lot easier if Jack woulda done me in. Or Spot. Or bald Paulie. Anyone. 'Cause, I'll tell ya this, if I woulda been dead already, I never woulda had to die with all this on my head.

All I wanted to do was clear my chest so I can die a proud mine. Whoever woulda thought something as simple as that woulda been so damn complicated?

Shit.

"I loved you, Benny, and I never would have done anything to hurt you. How could you have believed I ever would?"

She was whisperin' and, even though there was more people than I could count millin' around, I heard every word. I just pretended like I didn't.

"That was a long time ago, Sunny," I said, tryin' like hell to make it look like anything she said wasn't botherin' me. I shrugged and that one action was in defeat. It was all my fault, I knew that, but I wasn't gonna tell her that. It was bad enough that she had to keep sayin' she loved me. Did she really have to make my death even _harder_? "It's all in the past now."

She took a deep breath—the sound seemed louder than that bum sellin' grub on the corner—and lifted her head to look at me again. Oh, shit, there's tears now. She ain't cryin' but they're there. I can see 'em… and I wished I didn't.

"It doesn't have to be."

Yes, Sunny, it does.

I dropped my gaze for a second, but only for a second, just for enough time to twist my face into the meanest grimace I could give it. It didn't take much work and I recognized that the frown I usually wore was only one or two twitches away from that look. "Don't fuckin' try that on me. Whether you're his whore or not, you belong to Spot," I said, rough and gruff though, inside, I almost felt like cryin' myself. I pointed at the damn Bridge. "You belong over there so go."

"But Benny—"

This is not what I wanted to happen. I didn't want to see Sunny—but I did. I didn't want to admit that I still had feelings for her—but I did. I sure as hell didn't want to hear that she still loved me, or that it was me who messed everything up… but this was the worst. She was tryin' to stay with me and I couldn't let that happen.

No matter what, I couldn't let Sunny Willows watch me die.

"No. No 'buts'. Just go!"

"Ben—"

"I said go!"

The words came out with a snarl and, to be honest, I think I scared myself, too. I jabbed viciously towards that stupid fuckin' Bridge, tryin' to get the point across to her. She couldn't be with me, no matter how much I wanted her to. The last time I gave her up, I blamed her. This time, there was no one to blame but me.

Sunny certainly looked stunned. Her big, brown eyes were wide but, I gotta give her credit, she didn't cry. She stared at me for a minute too long—I faltered but, in the end, I didn't waver—before noddin' and takin' hesitant steps forward. She kept her head straight as she walked past me—I shivered but my pose did not break—and I could smell all those smells that were Sunny to me. The warmth and the honey and the sunshine…

I couldn't concentrate on her scent for long 'cause, just as she slowly sauntered by, I heard a whisper.

She was whisperin' to me.

"For what it's worth," she said, and she did not meet my eye as she said it, "it does matter, Skittery."

--

That was the last time I saw Sunny Willows. With her head bowed down and her heels going c_lack_c_lack_c_lack _as she hurried away from me, she was gone and I just let her go. I didn't want to do but I had to. Damn it.

That was the last time I saw the Brooklyn Bridge. The fuckin' bridge was almost mockin' me as I angrily kicked some dirt at it. It would still be standin' years, decades, _centuries_ from now and me? I'd be nothing but a bit of dust on the wind. Maybe I'll be lucky enough to give some other bummer a case of the coughs.

That was the last time I saw New York City. The stink, though, that stayed with me until the end. I deserved it, too.

And that… that was the last time I… yeah.

Yeah.

--

Pick your poison, they used to say. In a shithole like New York City, there were all sorts of sins for a bum like me to choose from: girls, booze, drugs, money… everything you could need for a good time, ya know?

Me, I chose a good old vice: a bit of tobacco and a pape to roll it in. I was always a dumb and glum kind of guy—what did you expect from me? What did I expect from a cigarette? Hell, there ain't nothing like burning your insides up from inside out. Right? Oh, well.

It was good while it lasted. Maybe next time I won't fuck everything up so bad.

_Pick your poison_…

Ya know, Jack Kelly didn't put me out of my damn misery like I hoped he'd do but that was alright. In the end, I didn't die of no goddamn cough.

I was fuckin' poisoned.

* * *

Author's Note: _Well, that's all folks! I can't believe it myself but _Pick Your Poison _is now complete. I hope that anyone who read this lovely little foray into the twisted mind of Skittery enjoyed it and, if you did, I would be absolutely thrilled to hear from you. This project started out as a little experiment of mine and became one of my favorites and I'm so glad to see it complete :)_

_I do want to thank those who were with me as this story was written, those who read it... those who reviewed it. Feedback is always great to have, and it's so nice to see that a writer's work is being appreciated. On the flip side, I cherish every single review that I receive and I would like to offer my sincere thanks to those who took the time to offer me some words on _Poison_: Rogue, Lady Sorciere, Peg, Rae, Keza, Brockie, Newsgirl Poet, Hilby, Zippy, 'Tis a Tale Worth Telling, Orange Socks and Polka Dots and Kaitins._

_Until next time, guys! -- stress_


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